


let me satisfy your soul

by DylanOhbrien



Series: rumble, tumble, rise [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Background Relationships, Developing Relationship, Fake AH Crew, Female Jack, Healing, Impulse Control, Jeremy/Ryan/Ray is Pre-Relationship, M/M, Michael is basically a nurse, Obsessive Behavior, Serious Injuries, Slow Build, Violence, now with more romance!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-11 13:10:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 58,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7893901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DylanOhbrien/pseuds/DylanOhbrien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gavin goes digging his nose where it doesn't belong, and now he's in a whole mess of trouble. He personally blames Mogar.</p><p>Because it's not like anyone told Mogar to go out and make himself be so goddamn elusive. He became an puzzle that seemed unsolvable, and he became far too tantalizing for Gavin to resist.</p><p>(Or, Gavin becomes obsessed with finding out the identity of Los Santos' up and coming pyromaniac.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be a small one shot about Gavin wanting to figure out who Mogar is. Oops.
> 
> EDIT: There's now a [podfic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10939509)! I'm not crying I promise.

**1**.

So, Gavin has a few problems to deal with.

The first of those problems being a fiery redhead named Michael Vincent Jones. Not that it would do him well to call him by that name. No, for now, Gavin opts to use the nickname the rest of Los Santos has taken to calling him: Mogar. As a precaution, of course. The second problem is that Mogar has a penchant for blowing shit up. All the time. It’s his solution to perhaps every problem he faces. The third ― and quite possibly the largest ― problem is that Gavin has an inability to think with anything other than his dick.

Gavin personally blames Mogar’s freckles for getting him into this mess.

Speaking of.

Mogar’s freckles are in full display from underneath his comically large eyes as he’s staring at Gavin incredulously. Gavin stares right back, albeit with more trepidation, taking in anything and everything he can in that moment. The twitch of Mogar’s fingers as he itches to reach for the pistol Gavin knows he has tucked away somewhere, the clench of his jaw as he listens to Gavin speak, the stiffness of his shoulders that give away his desire to bolt.

“Are you fucking insane?” Mogar spits, and Gavin can’t help the shock that moves up his spine. He is only human, after all. “Are you seriously this fucking stupid? I should kill you right now.”

Now, it isn’t like Gavin had expected the guy to just allow some stranger to strike up a conversation in a warehouse in the middle of nowhere about his criminal past. As far as Mogar is aware, no one even knows his real identity, and even if they did, they wouldn’t be able to connect it to his crimes. Which isn’t far from the truth. After all, he did a fantastic job of covering up his tracks, but Gavin is Gavin, and there isn’t anything he can’t eventually find.

“You really shouldn’t,” Gavin responds truthfully. Geoff would have Mogar’s ass if he’d hurt one of his men. All Gavin wants is to bring Michael into their business, and both of them dying would definitely put a damper on things. He would rather that Mogar get on Geoff’s radar in a positive way rather than the guy getting a huge target on his back.

“Why the hell not?”

There’s a shift from one foot to the other, a quick flash of movement, and then suddenly Mogar has a pistol in his hand, leveling it up to Gavin’s face. It’s not the first time Gavin has had a gun aimed at him ― and it certainly won’t be the last ― but he doesn’t miss the hesitation in Mogar’s eyes. Gavin has had plenty of people point a gun at him, he knows when someone doesn’t have unbridled determination.

So he persists.

“Geoff Ramsey wouldn’t like it if you harmed one of his men,” Gavin quips, and he doesn’t deny the small burst of amusement when he sees Mogar’s shocked expression. Names are very powerful things, and Gavin will never get used to the kind of reaction Geoff’s name gets from people.

“Bullshit. No way you work for Ramsey,” Mogar says after a pause, eyes squinting.

The gun is still leveled up to his face, but Gavin is quick on his toes. Fighting might not be his forte ― not by a long shot ― but he can certainly sweet talk himself out of almost anything. “I’m not here to pick a fight with you, Mogar. I just want to have a discussion. Negotiate, if you will.”

“Whatever you’re selling, I ain’t buying,” Mogar says, and Gavin’s ears pick up on the slight accent. Watching Jersey Shore with Jack finally paid off, it seems, and Gavin finds himself feeling glad that the information he’d dug up was accurate to some capacity.

Not that he'd doubted it in the first place, but affirmation is always a good thing in this line of business.

“I’m not selling anything, you gob,” Gavin says, cracking a barely there grin he hopes goes over well with the man.

Mogar squints at the name, as well as his amusement about the entire situation. “Then what the fuck is this about? I don’t do freelance jobs, you know. So if you want me for some dumb little heist for your shitty crew then you can forget it.”

“I wouldn’t call the Fake AH Crew a shitty little crew if I were you,” Gavin warns. “It isn’t a smart idea.”

“There you go again with the FAHC shit,” Mogar says. “What does Geoff Ramsey even want from me? I mind my business and make sure to stay the fuck out of his hair to avoid one of his lackeys from coming after me. Apparently it was fucking unavoidable because here you are.”

Gavin knows Mogar’s carefulness about minding Geoff’s territory and keeping to himself. He’s right, though. It was unavoidable. Mogar had made himself into a puzzle that needed solving, and if there was one thing Gavin loved, it was cracking a code.

“Geoffrey doesn’t want anything from you. Not as far as I know, and believe me, I know Geoff. I went out and looked for you myself. Took a ton of work. You’re a slippery son of a bitch, you know,” Gavin says, venting out a bit of his frustration about the last few months of his life.

Mogar blinks, and the gun lowers just slightly. “Why did you want to find me?”

Before he can answer, there’s a series of beeps and clicks coming from the other end of the warehouse, and suddenly Mogar goes stiff. The sound echoes through the ceiling and walls, like a cacophony of music.

“Shit.”

“That does not bode well,” Gavin says wearily.

“No shit,” Mogar snaps, tucking the gun into his waistband. “We gotta go. I put a fail safe into this place in case someone found it, and there’s bombs all around this place. It must have activated when you saw fit to break into the building. So, uh, unless you want to get blown the fuck up, we gotta go. _Now_.”

Gavin shoots forward. “Don’t need to tell me twice.”

Mogar is tugging on his sleeve, pulling him towards the exit. He breaks into a run after a few steps, and Gavin is right behind him, not questioning why Mogar is even bothering to save his life.

Not like he has enough time to consider it anyway, because Mogar glances behind Gavin’s head, eyes wide, and then the bombs go off. Gavin does, however, have enough time to think himself a bit of an idiot for not having the forethought to consider _explosions_ as a possible outcome of the evening.

Mogar is staring at him with wide eyes for a split second before something hits Gavin somewhere on his back. Suddenly there's a sharp and white hot pain _blooming_ and Gavin barely has time to let out a throaty scream of agony before he's suddenly being propelled forward into the guy’s arms.

There’s a split second where he realizes that he’s currently in Mogar’s arms, that Mogar’s mouth is moving frantically, forming words that Gavin can’t hear, that the pain is too much, _it's too much_ ―

And then everything just goes dark.

* * *

 **2**.

Todorov's narrative theory suggests that there are three parts to a story: the beginning, the middle, and the end. It doesn’t, however, state that they must be in chronological order. Yet the most accepted way of telling a story is with a linear narrative.

So, the beginning.

Gavin makes the move to Los Santos when he’s twenty-three years old and wide eyed and naive and way too smart for his own good. Granted, it hadn’t originally been his reason for moving, but he makes a bit of a reputation for himself as a freelance hacker and computers expert in the underground crime world of the city quite quickly. But hey, it was paying the bills with more than a few dollars to spare, so Gavin took the entire thing in stride.

He accepted the job and its consequences with a grain of salt. The danger and violence and adrenaline, they were all things he was willing to put up with when worst came to worst. And it always did. But the thrill started to grow on him too, as the danger continued to grow and grow.

Gavin spends the better half of his first year in the city jumping from gang to gang, helping them pull off robberies and heists, collecting information about their enemies, and then collecting a fee at the end of it all. He develops a policy among his clients: if they wish to continue working with him, they keep their mouths shut about it. He’s worked for rival gangs that go blabbing, and it’s always a pain to clean himself up after getting beat up, and then finding a new client to fill their slots.

Despite the policy, word still travels, and eventually talk of Gavin’s skills reach Geoff Ramsey, who seems to have taken an interest in the Brit. Gavin knows of the man, of course. During his dealings with different crews, there’s been rumbles about him, always kept quiet and very off the records. He’s vicious, he’s ruthless, and he’s clawing his way up the Los Santos ranks tooth and nail with his own crew.

Gavin is the first to admit his initial meeting with Geoff had been less than stellar, because even after working for months with dangerous criminals who wouldn’t have a problem putting a bullet between his eyes, he doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut. His brain-to-mouth filter was shit, and, well…

“You look like Mario.”

Jack ― Geoff’s second in command ― seems far more amused with the situation than the Kingpin himself. Her hand is clamped over her mouth to muffle her laughter, but the erratic shake of her shoulders sort of gives away her amusement. Geoff's face is carefully blank, but the mustache above his lip twitches.

It’s the start of a beautiful friendship, really.

After their rough beginning, when Gavin proves himself to be extremely useful, Geoff’s icy exterior starts to melt away to reveal his true nature, and they form a very solid partnership, as well as a tentative friendship.

( _“Vagabond,” Gavin says, looking up from his laptop screen. It’s nothing but boring CCTV footage, anyway. “Do you always wear that mask?”_

_The Vagabond ― which Gavin already knows to be named Ryan Haywood, but makes the prudent decision not to call him by his name ― glances up from the book he’s reading. Gavin can’t see anything but his eyes, and they give nothing away._

_“Yes,” he answers, and Gavin can’t tell if he’s kidding._

_So, naturally, he has to push this as far as he can._

_“Even in the shower?” Gavin asks curiously, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. Jack and Geoff glance up from their spot on the other end of the table, apparently also curious to know the answer. Which―granted, knowing if someone is wearing a skull mask twenty-four hours of the day is probably not information anyone should really have about another person. Gavin finds it a bit odd anyway._

_“Yes.”_

_Oh. If this is a challenge, it’s one Gavin is going to take. “What about when you’re shagging a bird or bloke? Can’t be very comfortable for them if their partner is wearing a bloody mask. Then again, they’d have to be into that sort of thing for you to be able to get them into your bed anyway.”_

_There’s a breathless laugh from the other side of the room, and suddenly Gavin sees Geoff bent over the table, hitting his fist against the wood as he laughs his ass off. Jack cracks a smile at their antics as well, and while Gavin had gotten smiles and chuckles out of her before, Geoff was a different story. There’s a strange lightness in Gavin’s chest about getting Geoff to laugh like that._

_Ryan doesn't_ _answer the question, but Gavin likes to think not answering the question is kind of answering the question anyway_.)

Gavin does the job he was hired for ― getting information about a sleazy pharmaceutical company that had apparently done something to get on Geoff’s bad side ― and goes off on his merry way after collecting his money. Geoff lets him leave with a clap on the back, and Gavin is sure he’ll be dealing with the Fake AH Crew in the future.

And he’s right.

It takes a few weeks, but Geoff eventually starts calling him in on bigger and badder jobs, and before Gavin knows it he’s practically become a full time consultant for the crew. The money pay is the same as what he’d earn if he was working with other crews, and it’s a nice bonus to be working with people he actually _likes_. Geoff has a very immature sense of humor that Gavin can easily play off of, Jack is very patient with him, and Ryan actually indulges him and his weird hypothetical questions.

By the sixth month working with them, Gavin knows that he’s going to be asked to officially join the crew soon. It isn’t exactly a surprise, and he knows he’s going to accept the offer, but it still leaves him on a little bit of a high. Knowing he’s actually going to be a part of something, and not just jumping from job to job and going home to an empty apartment.

He’s sitting at a desk in what has unofficially been dubbed as his office for quite a while when he glances behind him and sees Geoff approach through the pane of glass that allows him to see into the rest of the base. Geoff comes into the room, and even though he doesn’t know the man as well as someone like Jack, he definitely knows that Geoff is about to say something that matters.

“Can I help you?” Gavin chirps when Geoff walks in through the open door and settles himself into the spare chair next to Gavin.

The man in question stares at Gavin from his spot next to the desktop Gavin happens to be hunched over, fiddling with his mustache for a moment before opening his mouth, then closing it with a soft clank. Geoff tries again, failing to get any words out.

That’s when Gavin knows it’s coming. The boy squares his shoulders and looks away from the lines of code he’s been manipulating for the last two hours to look at Geoff straight in the eye. He waits for a beat, pursing his lip. Growing up, Gavin realizes that there are moments occasionally trickle by, unbelievably important in the course of a person’s life, changing their entire life on a dime. Most people look back and realize that the moment had affected their life greatly. Gavin, however, has the pleasure of _knowing_ this is one of those moments.

There’s a swallow in the room, and Gavin isn’t actually sure who it comes from.

“I’ve been talking with Jack about it for a while now,” is what Geoff chooses to start with. His hands fold together on the table, and Gavin reaches over to move an old coffee cup to the side. “You’ve been with us for a few months, and who fucking knows why, but you’re really good at your shit.”

Gavin stares, and holds back his shit eating grin. “Years of practice, Geoffrey.”

“Right.” Geoff rolls his eyes before continuing, but the nervousness in the air is slowly dissipating. “What I’m trying to say, dumb ass, is that Jack and I both appreciate what you do. Ryan too, probably, since it gets him out of this stuffy ass office and out there doing God only knows what. I don't even want to think about it, to be honest.

“The point I’m trying to make is that we all like having you around. And, well, Jack and I did some talking, and we want you to join us. Permanently.” Geoff finishes off his offer with a small cough.

For a brief moment, there’s a tenseness in the air as Geoff awaits Gavin’s answer, and Gavin stares at the older man without moving. A moment, indeed.

“Of course I’ll join, you donut.”

Gavin wisely pretends not to notice the deep breath that Geoff let’s out. He raps his knuckles against the table in quick succession, nodding his head in a jerky motion. “Great, great. I’ll tell Jack the good news then. We’ll get some muscle to move all your shit from your apartment into this office then."

Gavin has been using Ryan’s setup for the time being, and while it’s been perfectly adequate, he misses his personal computers, as well as his way of organizing things. Ryan also doesn’t seem to have a method to make fake IDs, and that’s nothing if not a tragedy. Having all his things here is an amazing thought.

Gavin grins, all teeth, and then that’s that.

A few days later Geoff makes good on his promise and Gavin escorts two low level crew members to his apartment and instructs them on how to move his equipment safely and securely. He oversees the entire process from start to finish, from his apartment to the ride back to the base.

The office has been gutted and cleaned for him to organize it to his liking, with the exception of the desk and a few new shelves. Gavin makes a quick job of figuring out how to organize it. Two desktops take of the right hand side of his desk, and his personal laptop rests on the left hand side of the desk more often than not. He gets some other crew members to install four panels into the wall the desk is leaning against so he has more monitors at his disposal.

Somehow they manage to miraculously shove his printers into one of the corners of the room, and even give him a large shelf to store his hard drives and other random assortment of electronics. By the end of it all, it’s a messy jumble of wires and has seemingly no particular organization to anyone but Gavin.

And Gavin loves it.

It’s a strange feeling, having a place to call home. Geoff gives him a nice little tattoo just beneath his ear, branding him as a member of the Fake AH Crew for life. It hurts like a bitch, but it matches the one on Geoff’s knuckles, the one on Jack’s forearm, and the one on Ryan’s rib cage.

Slotting into the place that has already been cleared for him is more than easy. He just sits at his desk and does what he was born to do, and finds a family that way.

* * *

 **3**.

So, it starts like this: being an official crew member of the FAHC suddenly turns Gavin’s job from resident hacker and occasional flubber, into Geoff’s personal form of Google. Which, for some reason, pleases Ryan quite a bit.

And it isn’t like Gavin minds the expansion of his day-to-day routine. The sheer amount of information he can gather from the deepest and most encrypted corners of the internet is unbelievable, and he’s very fucking proud of that. So the fact that Geoff wants him to use his abilities to their full capacity? Perfectly fine by Gavin. Great, even!

There’s research and hacking and figuring out what pizza place is open late, and then there’s doing background checks on potential hires. Which is a job that seems to be growing constantly, what with the crew getting larger and larger. Geoff ends up with a few more lackeys after Gavin comes on board, but no one ends up as close as Gavin had. He’s no Gent, but Geoff has lovingly called him lad more than a few times.

Gavin has had the pleasure of scoping out most everyone that Geoff has even considered hiring, and usually if they get a no from Gavin, out the door they go. Gavin personally lays claim to bringing in Ray, and thawing Ryan’s little frozen heart in the process.

Ray does what no other hire has managed to do though. He breaks that little impenetrable circle that Gavin, Geoff, Jack, and Ryan have. Makes room for himself and squeezes right in, sitting comfortable and pretty. Gavin immediately attaches himself to the scruffy new guy like glue, simply glad to have someone else in their happy little family.

Now Gavin knows he can be a tad much sometimes. Comes on a little strong when he wants to befriend someone, is very intense about everything and anything that might catch his interest. He knows that Geoff is a cutthroat sort of guy who wants to get to the bottom of someone in the quickest way possible, and can be a little intimidating during his endeavors. He knows Jack smothers people in kindness and helpfulness and accommodation but won't take anyone's bullshit. She isn't afraid to hold a desert eagle to your temple and pull the trigger. And, well, Ryan… is Ryan.

But Ray ― bless the lad ― manages to take everything in stride, and with a bluntness about him that Gavin definitely appreciates.

And, apparently, so does Ryan. Just a little more than everyone else. Which, hey, is totally fine by Gavin because the Brit doesn’t lean towards any gender in particular when it comes to his romantic dalliances. He’s an all opportunities kind of guy, but he’d never pegged Ryan as the type to go for the scruffy looking recluse.

Go figure.

After finally connecting the dots and discovering that both Ryan and Ray have the hots for each other, Gavin works a bit of manipulative magic to get them to confess and then they start shagging like a bunch of animals. It’s a little disgusting to see them be all sappy and lovey-dovey, but hey, if they’re happy and Gavin can take the credit for causing said happiness, it’s a good day for everyone.

Ray has a slightly different opinion on the matter.

“You do realize,” Ray starts after Gavin tells him about it one day after he's been on board for months. “That you are claiming responsibility for Ryan getting laid on the regular?”

They glance over to where Ryan is having a conversation with Meg, slouching into a couch with a diet coke in his gloved hands. Meg is holding his mask in her lap, idly playing with the edge of it.

Meg is a lovely, albeit terrifying woman with secrets under secrets, and dozens of connections to a lot of dangerous people. Burnie ― one of Geoff’s long time friends and co-leader of a neighboring crew ― had sent her their way to give some intel on a job they were doing once, and she’d struck up a very light and fun friendship with almost everyone. She came by often, whether to give more intel, receive it, or just loiter around. Or flirt with Lindsay. That was a thing that happened a lot.

She'd also, miraculously enough, managed to form a very quick friendship with Ryan, of all people. They had one conversation and suddenly Ryan would take on the world for her. Gavin's pretty sure it has something to do with the particularly high body count she has under her belt.

But, digression and whatnot.

“Yeah, but it’s not like I’m the one shagging him,” Gavin shrugs a shoulder, grin pulling at his lips. “That's all you.”

Ray snorts. “Good point.”

Gavin beams, and a flame burns in his chest.

Home.

* * *

Maybe it really starts like this: Gavin is a bit of a nosy bastard. Collecting information is kind of his thing. It can’t be helped if everyone ignores the guy in the corner with his face buried in a laptop. It isn’t his fault if while ignoring said guy, they happen to let information slip out of them.

It really isn’t.

However, Geoff isn’t the type to just happen to let a piece of information get into the hands of someone who isn’t supposed to know. Or perhaps Geoff purposefully let it slip. Gavin doesn’t know about that man, sometimes. He has more than his fair share of secrets, and he is very particular about the way he lets information out. If he lets information out. So... this couldn’t have been an accident, right?

Gavin, in a change of routine, takes his laptop from its usual spot on his desk and leaves his office to venture into the main room.

The main room is just a room on the second floor where more trusted members spend some down time. It's extremely large and spacious, with a series of windows lining the western wall that have a beautiful view of miles and miles of desert; and, far off in the distance, the city of Los Santos shines bright and dangerous. There is a huge flat screen TV on the opposite wall, and a series of sofas and couches lining half of the four walls. Immediately left to the entrance is a kitchenette, complete with a Diet Coke filled refrigerator.

There are four doors in the room, one that leads to an immediate emergency exit, another that leads down to the garage, and two that lead into separate hallways that give way to the rest of the base.

Lowering himself into one of the nice couches, Gavin opens his laptop with the _intent_ of continuing to work. But, no matter how much he loves sitting down and spending hours upon hours working with code and snooping where he isn’t supposed be, it gets a little tedious sometimes.

So, Peggle.

Gavin is scary good at Peggle for it to simply be a game of luck and chance, as Burnie had called it once. More often than not, he can wipe the floor with the rest of the gang if they all manage to sit for a few rounds. Occasionally Geoff or someone else will beat him, but Gavin takes the crown most of the time. It’s very addictive.

Gavin is on his sixth game of Peggle ― deftly not doing his work ― when he hears muffled voices make their way down one of the main corridors. Gavin tunes most of it out in a practiced perfection. The base is large and spacious with tall ceilings and wide rooms, so you’re bound to hear more than a few echoes.

Jack’s voice is the one he recognizes first, and is able to coherently understand. Gavin has every intention of not listening, but the words out of Jack’s mouth peak his curiosity in the worst possible way.

“So he hit up three buildings at once, then?”

Gavin blinks rapidly, eyes moving away from the screen to the corridor he knows they’ll walk through at any moment.

“Yup,” he hears Geoff saying. “Blew them to fucking bits. Joel was telling me that the LSPD only knows him by his alias, Mogar. Apparently he’s not new to the game, but he’s definitely been making quite a name for himself recently.”

Mogar?

“Seems a little too trigger happy, if you ask me,” Jack says, and Gavin cocks his head to the side, aching to get a better listen. “Think we should be worried he might try something?”

Geoff snorts. “No way. He’s been staying the fuck out of FAHC business from what Joel was telling me, and it’s not like we’ve heard of this Mogar causing any problems for our men anyway. Even if he did want to jump at the chance to take a shot at us, he’s only one dude. Doubt he can do much damage.”

“I beg to differ,” Jack grumbles. Gavin can’t see her yet, but he’s willing to bet she’s crossing her arms over her chest in a way that gives away her frustration. “Seems like he can do a lot of damage, if what you’ve told me about him is true.”

“You worry too much, Pattillo.”

There’s a grunt of annoyance from Jack. “It’s my job to, since obviously you won’t do it.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re the one keeping this whole crew afloat. Salt of the Earth, really,” Geoff claims and lets out a laugh. “But in any case, I’m actually a little proud of the guy, whoever he is. Managing to screw over the cops like that single-handedly is amazing as dicks.”

“Which is why I tend to worry a little,” Jack states. “You see the point I’m trying to make, right?”

“Yes, Jack, I see your point.”

The pair finally appear through the entrance of the door, and Gavin startles himself back into reality, quickly tearing his eyes away and looking down at the laptop. Jack spares a glance and a quick quirk of her lips when she spots Gavin sprawled out on the couch before she and Geoff exit the room through the opposite hallway.

After they’re gone, Gavin sits up and exits out of Peggle.

Mogar. Huh. 

* * *

It probably _really_ starts like this: Gavin doesn’t know how to leave well enough alone.

He should be content enough to let the chips fall where they may and let Geoff come to him about it, right? It’s what he’s been doing since he’s been brought on officially, which was over a year ago.

Mogar certainly had Geoff’s curiosity peaked, and Gavin knows what that usually means.

But.

Weeks pass and Gavin isn’t sure if Jack’s apprehension was enough to let Geoff hold back on it, or if he himself thinks that Mogar is too much of a loose cannon to bring on board. Whatever the reason, it’s starting to grate on the Brit’s nerves.

But for all the self control Gavin usually manages to lack, he actually holds off on looking into Mogar without being directed to do so for quite a while. Partly because he respects Geoff enough to allow him to take the reins in these type of situations, but mostly because he’s sure ―  _so damn sure_ ― that Geoff is eventually going to come forward, put all their cards on the table.

Except he doesn’t.

Gavin twiddles his thumbs and sits on his ass for days and days, wondering why the Kingpin isn’t trying to snatch this guy off the streets for himself. Yet as Gavin’s bubbling curiosity gets dangerously close to boiling over, he holds back out of respect for Geoff.

Still, there’s only so much that Gavin can take before his curiosity gets the best of him. Needing to know for the sake of knowing was what had gotten him in trouble way before he even landed in America, and it seems even now it would be his undoing. He just can't help himself. Never had been able to, probably never will.

The proverbial nail on the coffin is the slightly less than proverbial explosion via sticky bombs. Mogar blows up the entrance of a bank and robs it with a practiced ease. It dominates the news, with dozens of articles on the incident, and Gavin just fucking snaps and absorbs it all as quickly as he can manage. It's Mogar’s first actual heist, and he did it all by himself and with a clinical efficiency Gavin finds a little more than amazing.

A short video released by the LSPD is linked with a few of them, and Gavin hovers over the link with his cursor, weighing his options. Should he really cross this line? He can admit that his curiosity has been more than peaked, and well, it’s a video available to the public, and Gavin is _technically_ part of the public. So there’s no qualms about him watching it, right?

With a purse of his lips and a furrow of his brow, Gavin clicks on the link and the video opens up on another tab. It’s a pretty short video, and the quality is absolute shit, but it’s the most Gavin has ever gotten aside from word of mouth.

In total, it’s under about three minutes long, with about half of it just showing patrons mulling about, minding their business within the walls of the bank. There’s a jarring tremor that shakes the camera, and then the people go scattering in panicked confusion. A wall collapses on the far side of the room, and through the rubble and puff of dust emerges the figure.

The first ― and most prominent ― thing that Gavin notices is the realistic bear mask covering his face. It’s the most obvious feature that he can make out through the grainy footage, but upon slower inspection he sees what appears to be a pistol in his hand, and a backpack slung over his shoulder.

The pure efficiency of the crime leaves him a little in shock, if Gavin’s being honest. Mogar is in and out in under ten minutes, according to the article he’d just read, and the footage does nothing but prove it. It shows him level the pistol to the patrons and people behind the counter to scare them into submission. He manages to quickly corral most of them into a small office, locking it, and then vaulting over the counter and disappearing in the back with one of the bankers.

The video doesn’t show him exiting the bank or how he’d gotten away, but Gavin has seen what he needs to see. Mogar ― whoever the fuck he is, and Gavin intends to find that out―  needs to be on their team. The next hour is spent hunching over the screen, reading article after article and contemplating hacking into the LSPD records to find out what they know. Something, he just needs _something_ to go off of.

“See something you like?”

Gavin tears his eyes away from the video, which he’d been watching for the umpteenth time, and jumps up immediately, harshly knocking his knee against the desk. Rubbing his knee, he spares a glance to see who the hell just came up behind him so suddenly.

“Ow! Ray, you scared the living daylights out of me, you gob.”

Ray leans over his shoulder, grinning down at him, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie.

“No need to look so pleased at my pain,” Gavin grumbles, shuffling to cover the article with his shoulder as much as he can manage. He turns his nose away from the other man and stiffly asks, “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Sort of,” Ray says, straightening up to his full height. ”But right now I’m wondering what Mogar has to do with the information you’re supposed to be digging up on Robertson. Idle minds are dangerous, Vav. Especially in this line of work.”

Gavin pushes down the warmth he feels rising to his face at Ray’s words. He’s not wrong, poking your nose into business that doesn’t concern you is dangerous as fuck. But Gavin is Gavin, and he haughtily responds with a defensive yell at the accusation.

“My mind is not idle,” he snaps, quickly exiting out of the website. “I was just a little curious. Bloke does a hell of a lot of damage all by himself. Seems like a possible asset at some point in the future. Just looking out for the crew.”

Gavin is telling the truth. Most of it, anyway. He might be way more than a little curious, and he may be looking into the man more to satiate his own curiosity than to protect the crew, but his statement still holds true all the same.

Ray squints from behind his glasses. “Geoff trying to recruit him?”

“Not that I know of,” Gavin grumbles, resting his elbows against the desk and leaning his chin against the palms of his hands. “Don’t see why not, though. He seems pretty top if you ask me.”

“Which Geoff didn’t,” Ray says, raising a brow at Gavin.

Gavin pouts and tells Ray, “Just― Just watch the video,” before bouncing in his seat and going into his history to open the video again. He plays the video for Ray, watching for the sniper’s reaction. He makes sure that Ray watches the entire video with rapt attention, and when it finally ends and fades out, the soft hum that he lets out makes Gavin nervous.

“Efficient,” Ray says, and in Ray terms that’s definitely appreciation.

Gavin lets out a puff of air. “That’s exactly my point. Geoff should be scooping him off the streets as soon as he can, but he’s sitting on his arse like a total idiot.”

Ray snorts. “Don’t let Geoff hear you saying that.”

Gavin just rolls his eyes in response.

“He might though, you never know,” Ray says after a pause, knocking Gavin’s chair askew with his hip. “Now get your pistols and let’s go.”

Gavin frowns in confusion and glances up from the screen to look at Ray for clarification. That’s when his eyes graze over the door to the office and he sees the case that holds Ray’s sniper placed neatly on the floor, waiting for its owner.“Go where exactly?”

Ray grins. “Just a little thing Geoff wants us to take care of, don’t worry too much. I’ll brief you on the way to the location. We’re also meeting up with Mica later, she’s got some information for us. So you can worry about your little crush later.”

Gavin’s indignant squawks follow Ray all the way down the hallway.

“Not a crush!”

* * *

 **4**.

Okay, so it might be a crush. Gavin is man enough to admit it. He has a small crush. On Mogar. Mogar, the criminal who loves blowing shit up and wears a bear mask while doing so. Mogar, who is still nameless, as well as faceless, really. This is what his life has come to.

 _Still_.

Perhaps it’s more appropriate to think of it as a sort of appreciation for the brash nature of the man, and how he carries out his crimes. Perhaps it’s more about how he can cause so much mayhem and still evade the cops with only his wits and some bombs. It’s bloody brilliant, in Gavin’s opinion.

In any case, Gavin doesn’t know much about Mogar aside from what has been released to the public. Then the Robertson case actually manages to keep him quite busy when he finally cracks down and gets to work, and looking into the man himself becomes virtually impossible.

By the time he wraps up his job and Ryan goes to “take care of it,” his quest to recruit Mogar and figure out who he is has taken a backseat. That probably would have been the end of it for quite a while, if not forever.

Gavin personally pins the blame on Jack for perpetuating the whole damn thing. Albeit unwillingly.

It goes like this: Gavin is sitting at the small table in the kitchenette, minding his business and scrolling through his phone when Jack bursts into the room with a small stack of papers in her arms. He looks away from the cracked screen as she does so, watching curiously.

“Hey, Gav, you seen this yet?” Jack asks, waving a piece of paper in her free hand.

Gavin squints at the paper flapping in Jack’s hands, trying to make out the small text.

“What’s that, love?” Gavin asks through a mouthful of spaghetti. Though it comes out more like, _“whuh ‘at uh_ ” than the intended words.

Jack however is well trained in the ways of Gavin Free, and ignores his antics in favor of sliding in the seat next to him and spreading out the papers across the table.  “It’s the updated list of the LSPD’s highly wanted criminals in California. Geoff wanted to see how we all ranked,” she tells him.

“Oh, oh, what rank am I?” Gavin asks, swallowing the food and peering at the paper excitedly. Jack pushes the paper towards him and points to a spot near the top of the page, and Gavin lets out a quick sound of protest. “Thirteen? Bloody thirteen? Who the hell beat me out?”

Jack laughs softly and pats Gavin’s shoulder. “Between all of us, sorry to say Gav, but you ranked the lowest. Getting so high on the list by being basically only a hacker is pretty commemorable though. Wouldn’t beat yourself up too much over it.”

“Got beat by Ray, fucking _Ray_ beat me out,” Gavin grumbles, still scanning the page.

“Ray is a professional sniper,” Jack points out, eyebrows raising in amusement. “Who shoots people in the head from over 100 feet away and has had a perfect killing streak since he’s joined the crew, probably even before that. That’s who you’re comparing yourself to.”

“Ray and I are both little lads, I have no one else I can compare myself to,” Gavin says with a pout.

“Why not compare yourself to a hacker?” Jack suggests with a shrug. “Lawrence would make much more sense.”

Gavin sort of ignores her though, in favor of staring at the person who ranked seventh. Mogar. _Mogar_.

Well, shit.

Mogar has got to be a force to be reckoned with, someone with a lot of power if he can claw his way up a list full of such dangerous people to sit pretty in seventh place. And Gavin can feel the curiosity continue to expand within him.

“Gav?”

Gavin blinks and looks up at Jack, cheeks stained pink when Jack gives him a weird look. “Sorry,” Gavin quickly blurts. “What did Lawrence rank? I want to rub it in the smug little prick’s face when we see Funhaus next time.”

After a pause, Jack smiles at that, and there’s a strange feeling that settles deep in Gavin’s chest. Relief.

See, the thing is, Gavin doesn’t understand why he’s trying to deflect. Ray already knows about his curiosity with Mogar, and that means that Ryan also most likely knows. And what Ryan knows, Meg will eventually know. Then it gets to Lindsay, who spills the word to Kdin, and then undoubtedly it will make its way into the ears of all the other crew members.

It will get around. _Eventually_.

He doesn’t understand why he’s so intent on keeping it as much of a secret as possible, when he knows that no matter what he does it’ll reach everyone, and then there will be consequences. Gavin will be teased and poked and prodded with jokes and insults and it’ll all be okay because Gavin doesn’t intend to do anything about this morbid curiosity with Mogar. He _doesn’t_.

(Except that maybe he kind of does.)

* * *

This is most likely the real beginning, because it isn’t long after that shit hits the fan in the worst possible way. Or perhaps it’s the best possible way.

Gavin still hasn’t decided.

* * *

 **5**.

It starts small.

Gavin doesn’t immediately go overboard and spend all his days tracking this masked criminal. He still has a job to do, after all, being Geoff’s main hacker and expert on all things technology. Gavin does his job ― and does it fantastically ― and then uses his spare time to start his search.

But.

 _But_.

Names aren’t easy to come by in Gavin’s line of work. Not real names, anyway. It’s always alias under alias before Gavin can connect the dots and get actual useful information. Despite that, Gavin has an uncanny ability to be able to find out who’s who and what they’re wanted for.

But fuck, Mogar is a ghost. The guy does a fantastic job of keeping his identity concealed from the media, and blurring all of his connections to his crimes just enough that Gavin can’t quite form a coherent connection.

It’s bloody irritating, is what it is.

It’s not even a morbid curiosity with him at that point, oh no, it’s become personal for Gavin. Being an informant is his _thing_ , and not having information is more than a little annoying. So his little hobby, the one he does when he has some free time away from the crew? It morphs quickly into something dangerous.

Gavin forces Joel to hand over everything the police have on Mogar, and makes sure the exchange stays under the radar. When that turns up nothing particularly useful, he hacks into their online records to be sure that he has all the information they know, which is just as much of a dead end as Joel’s information.

The fact that he’s as much of a ghost to the LSPD pisses Gavin off to no end. He has no leads, and no direction to go in. He’s going into the whole damn thing blind.

“Dammit,” Gavin growls, hitting his fist against his desk. He has _nothing_.

Gavin starts from scratch.

Looking into Mogar’s previous known crimes and suspected crimes fills up the free time he has in between doing crew work that needs to be done. If he happens to be out on a job, be it with Jack or Ray or Ryan, and falls victim to boredom, he’ll absentmindedly read a few articles, piecing the puzzles together in his mind all the while.

However, searching in his spare time quickly morphs into sitting at his desk at 3 A.M while the rest of the base is silent, the telltale sign that most everyone has gone home or slept in one of the spare bedrooms for the night. Constant glances behind his back to make sure that no one ― especially not Geoff ― are peaking in become the norm for him after a few days.

Gavin wears exhaustion like a champion more often than not; the redness of his eyes and the bruises under them are usually barely there during grueling jobs. But even this is starting to chip away at his usually put together appearance.

And Ray isn’t the first to notice, but he is the first to ask about it.

“Vav, you got a minute to talk?” Ray pokes his head through the open door. Gavin tends to keep it open during the day when everyone is awake and off taking care of crew business, just in case someone needs to speak to him. Not that he works on anything particularly important during the daytime, anyway. He saves the most important work for when he knows he isn’t going to be bothered.

“Sure,” Gavin responds tersely, and Ray stepped into the room, coming up behind Gavin to take a look at the screen he’s looking at. Multiple tabs of information and articles on one of Geoff’s competitors are open on the largest screen of the office.

Gavin sits up, straightening his back and wincing at the ache that comes with staying in the same position for so long. “What can I help you with?”

Ray, being Ray, gets straight to the point.

“Are you going to tell me what has you looking like shit recently, or are you going to come up with some bullshit excuse?” Ray asks, and Gavin immediately snaps his head to look up at him with wide eyes.

Ray stares back with eyes that just scream, “Got you right where I want you.”

“Uh,” Gavin flubs. “It’s―”

“Don’t say that it's nothing,” Ray cuts him off, and sometimes Gavin really hates how well Ray gets him.

And so Gavin has two options available to him: come clean, or lie through his teeth. Consequence of the first: Geoff finds out and Gavin’s search is undoubtedly stopped short, and his boss would keep him on a tight leash for the foreseeable future. Consequence of the latter: if Ray doesn’t buy his lie, the truth still comes out and Ray loses a little of his trust for the Brit.

“How much to buy your secrecy?” Gavin prompts. The former it is.

Ray takes the seat next to him, slouching into it, staring with unabashed curiosity. “Depends on the secret.”

Gavin spills his guts.

* * *

Afterward ― after Ray listens and his eyes grow in surprise as Gavin’s tale of curiosity and not quite betrayal is spun ― there’s a prolonged silence that chokes Gavin as he waits to see what the sniper is going to do.

What feels like hours must really only be seconds until Ray opens his mouth and Gavin leans forward in his seat. There’s another pause… and then Ray bursts out laughing. Gavin isn’t particularly sure why, but his face immediately flushes bright red.

“W―What?” Gavin blurts out nervously. “What’s so funny?”

Ray doesn’t answer, just laughs and laughs until he’s heaving for air and he’s leaning forward, resting his hands on his knees. He huffs out silent giggles that shake his shoulders all while Gavin watches on, growing more embarrassed and irritated as the seconds pass.

“What are you goin’ on about, then? What’s so funny?” Gavin asks hotly, crossing his arms.

“Holy shit, you’re crushing big time,” Ray replies after sucking in a breath, but the laughs continue.

“I am not!”

“Vav, my dude, I knew you had a habit for crushing on unattainable people,” Ray says smugly, with a mischievous air about him. A very stark contrast to his usual blunt nature. “You remember your thing for Meg? _Hilarious_. But this one really takes the cake, man.”

Words of denial are on the tip of Gavin’s mouth, arguing that no, it’s not a crush. It’s a legitimate curiosity, a way to test his skills. Finding Mogar means he’s far more superior at finding clues and making connections than he’d previously thought. Finding a ghost, that’s what this is about.

Yet, perhaps it is a crush, a little more than an appreciation of skill and abilities.

Lines are very easy to blur, after all. Gavin ponders this, all the while Ray stares at him like he’s figuring out something that Gavin isn’t.

“Look,” Ray says after a moment, after his fit of laughter has finally subsided. “I’m not going to go tattling to Geoff, if that’s what you’re worried about. I will warn you though, no doubt he’ll take this as insubordination because you’re doing something that could potentially impact the crew, and you’re doing this all without his permission. Geoff may love you, but even he has his limits. Just make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“He’s one man, X-Ray,” Gavin replies, but the words do stick with him. “How much trouble can he cause for an entire crew?”

Ray only raises a brow in response.

“You’d be surprised.”


	2. Chapter 2

**6**.

There is perhaps a hidden blessing in Ray knowing what has had Gavin so preoccupied in the past few weeks. When Gavin starts to show up to the base with deeper bags under his eyes that not even concealer can mask, others start to take notice and watch him out of the corner of their eyes. Gavin persists however, head held high and dressed immaculately despite his ragged physical appearance.

So, when they go from staring with curiosity and worry, to becoming extremely accommodating and try to involve him in every little thing, Gavin has no idea about who might be responsible. Not at first, anyway. But it had to have been Ray. He had to have been dropping hints here and there, getting the ball rolling. Everyone drops like dominoes, and Gavin finds that Ray is far less blunt than he’d initially believed.

Dude does really know his way around manipulation, as it seems, even it if was for a good reason.

Geoff goes tumbling first.

“You okay, dude? You look like shit.”

Gavin glances up from where he’d been looking out of the window of Jack’s van (she claims it’s inconspicuous, everyone else just calls it fucking hideous) and blinks owlishly at his boss. To say it’s been a rough couple of weeks is an understatement. Gavin is running on very minimal sleep, and any sleep he had gotten was restless. Still, Gavin squares his shoulders and plasters a small smile on his face.

“Well, you have been keeping me busy,” Gavin shrugs, and well, a little white lie never hurt anyone. “Don’t worry about it, Geoffrey. I’m fine, just a bit tired.”

Geoff, from his seat in the passenger's side, turns his head to look forward. Gavin’s eyes trace the hard lines of Geoff’s back and shoulders, seeing how tightly wound the man is. Even more than usual. He sees Jack glance at their boss out of the corner of her eye, worry shining through clear as day for the brief moment she allows her eyes to be off the road.

The three of them are making their way through a Los Santos highway, rumbling towards a particular location; a hit job that’s been a few weeks in the making.

“You could have mentioned something,” Geoff grumbles, and Gavin can’t help but think that sometimes Geoff is almost like a father to him, caring in a strangely strict way, and far more accommodating than a gang leader should be. ”You know, you’re allowed to take a break from time to time. I mean, what good is my imported hacker if he’s too tired to do his job?”

Gavin, despite the guilt pooling deep in his stomach, cracks a smile at that. Gavin had inadvertently pinned the blame on him, and Geoff had taken it with ease, going as far as to even offer the Brit a break. A very small part of Gavin wanted to take it, but he knew it wasn’t fair to everyone else if he did, especially Geoff. It just wouldn’t be fair to neglect his actual duties in favor of searching for some random criminal.

So.

“Oh, I’m well aware,” Gavin chirps, making his voice as light as he can manage. “Took that trip to India not that long ago, if you remember!”

Geoff lets out a huff of air, and then cranes his neck back towards Gavin and cracks a grin at him. Gavin’s chest feels a little lighter. “That was because Burnie wanted you for a job out there, not because you took a few vacation days, you asshole.”

“I went sightseeing!” Gavin argues weakly.

Geoff raises an eyebrow and dryly remarks, “You also robbed an Indian tycoon blind, but hey, who am I to decide what constitutes as a vacation.”

Jack snorts in response. “He’s got a point there, Gavin. You literally spent most of the time working on getting past his security and wiring the money back over here. Don’t think it really counts as a vacation, to be honest.”

“I was in New Delhi for almost a week!” Gavin points out. “Living lavishly in a hotel suite. It was essentially a vacation.”

Geoff looks like he’s reeling up for another argument, but Ryan’s staticy voice cuts through the air before he can. “ETA five minutes,” Ryan’s voice comes through the van’s speaker. “You might want to cut your conversation short and get ready.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Haywood,” Geoff snaps, but he expertly starts to check over the assault rifle in his lap, making sure it works properly.

“Fucking got ‘em!” Ray’s muffled voice comes through a moment later, quickly followed by a soft reprimand by Ryan that still comes through the speaker despite the fuzzy sound quality. The pair had opted on taking one of Ryan’s motorcycles to have the option of another getaway vehicle. All five of them know how to hotwire a car, but having an alternate vehicle already set for them makes things easier.

Jack laughs heartily at Ray’s response, and Gavin takes the time to adjust his favorite set of pistols as they rest at his hips.

They’re going in guns blazing, according to Geoff, with Ray taking a sniper position and Jack and Gavin providing support while Geoff and Ryan take out the main targets. Gavin isn’t usually brought in for these types of jobs. He’s not part of the action. Not this type of action, anyway. Gavin is often stashed away in a getaway vehicle, or plays bait while on hits with Ray, because he’s a very word savvy person. He's a decent shot as well; he's got to be, in his line of work. But he just usually doesn't go in with the main team because he’s more brains than brawn.

But Geoff had insisted this time around, and Gavin was in no position to turn the order down. So he goes.

And in the middle of the action, after they park their respective vehicles a ways away; after Ray sets up a sniper position from a neighboring building; after they break in and start taking out targets, Gavin’s golden pistol shines and cuts through the air, bullet ricocheting until it meets the back of an enemy who had their gun trained on Ryan, blood splattering everywhere as the man goes crumbling to the ground.

Ryan, the fucking lunatic, takes a moment to send Gavin a toothy smile. Gavin smiles back tightly and trains his gun on another enemy.

Gavin really loves his work.

* * *

Gavin really loves his work, but it is rather taxing sometimes.

As it turns out, trying to juggle an illegal job as a hacker for one of California’s most popular gangs _and_ searching for a wanted criminal to satiate some morbid curiosity at the exact same time really wears on a person. Not that Gavin didn’t already know this.

But it is so goddamn irritating to know that he is probably the closest to finding Mogar than anyone has ever been, and the man still manages to remain elusive despite all efforts on Gavin’s part. He is so fucking close, and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it.

But his shitty appearance has quickly become the talk of the town (or, well, the base), and Ray decides to step in. He’s been butting his nose where it doesn’t belong lately, even though that’s usually Gavin’s job.

Gavin is sprawled out in his office, resting most of his body on the desk while he blinks through sleep filled eyes at the dimly lit screens. There’s empty coffee cups and Monster cans scattered all over the floor, and he’s got a newly opened can sitting right next to him on the tabletop.

A knock rouses him from his position and Gavin sits up to see Ray leaning against the door entrance. Gavin doesn’t say anything to the lad, just runs his hand over his face and blinks slowly at the other man. Ray stares with a raised brow.

“You look fucking wrecked,” Ray says flippantly.

“Gee, thanks,” Gavin replies dryly. ”Tell me something I don’t know.”

Ray hums in response. ”Well, I can’t do that. Look, I’m not even going to ask what the hell it is you’ve been doing, because I want as little to do with this shit as possible, but dude, I’m not kidding when I say you look like you’re on the verge of death. You need a break.”

Gavin bristles at that, but doesn’t get a chance to respond before Ray is taking a step forward and hauling him up to his feet by the collar of his shirt. He’s forcibly dragged out of the seat and pulled out of the room silently, and Gavin sputters in confusion as Ray pulls him out into the hallway.

“Ray, what the hell? _Ray_ ,” Gavin stutters, but the sniper pays no mind to his outburst.

Ray, it seems, is a man on a mission; and that mission seems to be getting Gavin as far away from anything that might even resemble a computer as he can manage.

He quietly releases his grip on Gavin’s collar so it’s not so tight, but still tugs the man along. Gavin himself doesn’t find much of a reason to fight his way out of the grip and trots along behind his friend. He’s pulled down long corridors, past the main room, and they eventually come across Jack as they’re moving through the base.

She seems fairly preoccupied, with a stack of manila folders bundled in her arms and her hair pinned out of her face. A pen rests behind her ear, and she’s scanning the folders with rapt attention. Gavin has no idea what the hell she’s even looking at, which is very telling about how little he’s been involved with the ins and outs of the crew lately. She glances up when she notices their nearing footsteps, eyebrows only slightly furrowing at the sight of Gavin being physically dragged by Ray.

“Do I even want to know?” She asks when the two stutter to a stop right in front of her. The open folder on the top of the stack that she’d been reading closes with a snapping sound.

Gavin stops to think of a response, but Ray beats him to it, already having one on the tip of his tongue.

“Gavin here is taking a break from work,” Ray explains, and Gavin is a moment away from bursting out in protest, but the sharp way that Ray’s eyes cut over to him stops the words in his throat. Gavin practically swallows his tongue and breaks eye contact, suddenly looking down at his shoes with rapt interest. Dammit. “Whether he wants it or not.”

Jack smiles at that, seeming very pleased with the response. God, has he really looked that bad lately? “Good,” she says lightly, “He really needs it. Rest up, Gavin. Your work will still be here if you take a break for a few hours. Come back when you’re feeling better.”

She stares at him with bright eyes and a soft smile, and if there’s anyone Gavin hates lying to the most, it’s Jack. She’s so loving and trusting and kind, and Gavin cares for her deeply. He _wants_ to please her, wants her to be proud of him. _If she ever found out―_

“Will do,” Gavin says, thankful that his voice doesn’t crack. He manages to shoot a crooked grin at her before Ray is tugging him forward and suddenly they’re moving down the hallway again. Gavin squawks at the sudden movement, tripping over his own two feet.

“See you later Jack,” Ray calls from over his shoulder, not bothering to look back. Gavin however does, and he sees Jack smiling with ruddy cheeks.

Her laughs follows them down the hallway like bells, and Gavin feels guilty again.

Once he’s sure they’re out of earshot, Gavin leans forward ― quite difficult to do while in constant movement ― and asks, “Is that really what I’m going to do? _Rest?"_

“Yes, that’s really what you’re going to do,” Ray confirms, turning a corner and heading down a path that Gavin knows to lead to the spare bedrooms. Huh. ”No offense, but like I said, you look like shit, Vav. A day off is what you need since you’re so intent on doing whatever the hell it is you’re doing.”

Gavin deflates a little at that, and he knows he’s not going to put up much of a fight. Ray does actually have a point.

“I'm still not going to ask.”

Ray eventually comes to a stop in front of a door to a room that Gavin tends to favor, and stops Gavin from running right into him. He releases his collar and then his hands come to his side, finding their usual spot in his pockets. Gavin grumbles while he tries to straighten out the wrinkles in his shirt.

“Phone,” Ray instructs, holding out his palm expectantly.

Gavin stares down at the hand incredulously. “What? No way!”

Ray is persistent though. “You need time to disconnect from the rest of the world,” Ray says, and his words hold some merit, but Gavin can see the glint of amusement shining in his eyes. He may be right. He’s probably right. But Gavin doesn’t really want to give him the satisfaction. “So, the phone. Give it to me.”

Gavin lets out a noise of displeasure and pulls his phone from his pants pocket, clutching it against his chest tightly. He can begrudgingly admit to himself that Ray has a point. No matter how much he wants to keep looking, and no matter how much he wants to be useful to his crew, he’s all but exhausted. There’s no way he can give anything his all, no matter how much he may want to.

“I really hate you,” Gavin informs Ray, and then drops the phone into Ray’s open palm.

“You’ll thank me later,” Ray says, and then opens the door and shoves Gavin inside. “Enjoy your nap. Who knows, a fresh pair of eyes might do you a world of good.”

He smiles smugly, and then shuts the door in his face.

Gavin scowls, but tugs off his shoes and pants anyway, and then slides into the bed. He’s asleep within minutes.

* * *

Ray doesn’t seem to be done yet. A few days later, when Gavin finally gets some free time to himself that he plans on spending doing research, that plan is ruined when Ryan forces him to go out on a job with him. And if there’s one thing Gavin hates more than anything, it’s going out on a job with Ryan.  Not to badmouth the man, because he’s brilliant and efficient, but he’s also morbid and brutal and never knows when he goes too far. Going out on hit jobs together it always way more fun for Ryan than it is for Gavin.

He’s gotten better about death and destruction in the recent years, even shooting people or being near a corpse or two. But Ryan sure loves to push the limit as far as he can. There’s cracked skulls and broken bones and stray body parts and unbelievable amounts of blood. And it always ― _always_ ― ends up with Gavin emptying the contents of his stomach into a plastic bag while Ryan pats his back.

It’s probably mostly for Gavin’s sake, but Ryan does actually go easy on this target. Well, as easy as he can, anyway.

Ryan drives them over to a warehouse where someone that had been causing Geoff a little bit too much trouble had actually agreed to meet them. What a fucking moron. He’d gone under the pretense of discussing important business that Geoff had hinted involved a huge sum of money, and the guy followed the scent like a hound dog, greedy and desperate.

They park outside, and Gavin pulls out his pistol just in case. He knows when the man catches sight of the Vagabond, he’ll realize he’s going to die, and things can get sticky. They always do when there’s a man on the verge of death involved.

Ryan pulls on the black mask before he sheaths a short knife on one side of his hip, and holsters a pistol on the other. They slowly block any other feasible exit before they make their way into the building.

Gavin goes in first, all smiles and charisma, chatting the man up and getting him comfortable. He’s a flighty guy, and after Gavin looks over his body, he can see the gun obviously jutting out from the waistband of his pants. After a few minutes of making the guy less wound up and paranoid, Ryan finally decides it’s time to take care of business. When Ryan silently emerges from the shadows, the man’s face goes white in an instant. And, almost like he forgets about the gun, he just shoots off in the opposite direction and tries to run away desperately.

Gavin watches with a frown as Ryan toys with his victim, following him through the dark building at a slower pace. Gavin makes his way to a corner of the room for safety, just in case the man remembers he does actually have a weapon, Not that it’ll make a difference, but still. Gavin would rather not get hit with a stray bullet today, or at all really.

He can hear the ragged breathing and pathetic begging echoing through the walls as the man tries to run from Ryan, but it’s fruitless.

Eventually, he sees the man run back into the room where Gavin is waiting, and Gavin pulls out his gun just in case. But he pays little mind to Gavin and tries to pry the locked door open, blubbering desperately. From his vantage point, Gavin can see he’s bleeding already, from both his side and head. It dribbles on his skin and onto his clothes, but the wounds don’t seem particularly life threatening. He’s not sure if they’re accidental injuries or not, but he doesn’t get much time to consider it before Ryan finally appears again, seemingly tired with this cat and mouse game.

He quickly traps the man and snaps his neck, and it’s over just like that. Gavin wrinkles his nose at the loud snapping sound. It’s not pretty, and it makes Gavin feel a little queasy, but they manage to make it back to the base without Gavin vomiting all over Ryan’s car, so they both chock it up as a win.

Later on, after Gavin retells the story to Geoff, Jack, and Ray, and after he heads back home without his laptop and climbs into bed, he barely realizes this might just be Ray working some sort of magic again.

* * *

One day, Meg drops by to exchange information as well as pleasantries. She latches onto Gavin the moment she finds free time during her visit, and starts to gush about her new puppy, a clothing sale she happened to catch at the last minute, and a double homicide she’d been responsible for that was still currently unsolved. She did this all in under ten minutes.

Gavin thinks she’s truly a horrifying person.

He listens with rapt attention anyway, closing his laptop and giving the woman his full attention, cheek resting in the palm of his hand. Conversations with Meg are always fun, because while she has a similar bright and charismatic personality to Gavin, she’s also completely competitive and has a short temper.

Oh, and she’s persuasive as fuck.

Somehow, through the course of their conversation, she convinces him to go shopping with her _and_ to take a hike up the brutal Los Santos hills. Gavin fucking hates hikes and the heat and bugs, but he adores Meg, so he relents anyway.

Meg squeals and presses a kiss to his cheek, eventually leaving with a wave of her hand and a skip in her step.

She’s a very busy person, jumping from crew to crew, much in the way that Gavin used to do before he became an FAHC member full time. She’s constantly talking to different people and jet setting around the world, and the fact that she made time to actually come visit her friends is nice.

The fact that she took time to come see _him_ is nice.

* * *

Lindsay reminds Gavin of a ghost sometimes. She's in constant movement from place to place, working with different people on different things. Gavin doesn't get to see her for any sort of substantial time anymore, and he does understand why.

Doesn't mean he has to like it.

Lindsay is very much a behind-the-scenes kind of crew member, avoiding the action she knows will get attention. She's very meticulous about keeping her name and face from appearing in any media outlet, unlike other members who flaunt their position in the crew. But, while she may keep to herself in that regard, she isn't afraid to beat a man to death with a crowbar under the fall of night. Gavin has seen some shit, okay?

And Lindsay is just a no bullshit Texan born girl who Gavin has seen practically half a man with the end of a shovel and say, “That's life,” before wiping splatter blood off her cheek. But, in a morbid sort of contrasting way, she's also the type of girl who likes animals and cute clothes and sabotaging literally everyone during Mario Party, even at the risk of screwing herself over in the process.

Gavin thinks they're two kindred spirits, and after he wears her down ― as he does with everyone he ever meets ― they're two peas in a pod. But Lindsay is still an extremely busy person, and Gavin can't all day bugging her when they've both got shit to do. However, when she happens to find the time to push pause on her hectic schedule to venture over to Gavin's little corner of the base, he happily gives her the time of day.

One day, after he's had his ups and downs because of Mogar, Lindsay materializes out of thin air and plops herself into the spare chair Gavin alway has, ready for these very occasions.

“Lindsay,” Gavin chirps, and exits out of any work he was doing. He isn't kidding when he says he gives her the time of day. There will be no work happening in this room until she leaves.

“Hey,” she says, rolling ones in the chair. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, not at all,” Gavin assures her. “It's nothing that can't wait a little longer for my favorite girl.”

“Don't let Meg hear you say that,” Lindsay laughs, and Gavin snorts. Meg would have him by his balls if he'd called anyone else his favorite girl, but this is _Lindsay_. She's probably everyone's favorite girl. “Or Jack.”

“Jack is more like my mother than a girl,” Gavin deadpans. “I get the feeling she wants to pinch my cheek and tuck me into bed.”

Lindsay laughs again, and spends the next hour glued at Gavin's side, showing him her favorite cat videos, and then telling him he should get a cat ― and that she'd totally be down to help him if he ever decided to adopt one. He agrees mostly to humor her and her strange affinity for felines, but then he finds himself thinking that the apartment has been feeling kind of lonely lately.

Kittens are quite cute, too…

* * *

Later, when Geoff appoints him as the bait in a hit job to take out an informant who had been getting a little mouthy with the wrong people, it finally clicks in Gavin's head. Really clicks. The man in question has been grating on Geoff's nerves for a little too long, and now Gavin has to play the charisma game again while Ray gets his shot ready from atop a neighboring building.

Gavin meets the man in a secluded side of town where if people see a FAHC member, they know to walk the other way. The idiot target is all arrogance and bloated sense of importance, so getting him in position and keeping him there long enough to Ray to line up the shot is easy enough. Gavin just has to poke holes in his fragile ego and goad him into yapping his mouth.

“Should be easy. It's what you're good at, right?” Gavin asks when he has the man where he wants him. “Opening your big mouth?”

The man blinks, and just when Gavin can see the inkling of understanding and panic starting to well up in his eyes, Gavin is sprayed with his blood as Ray's bullet enters one side of his head and exits out the other. Brain matter and tissue go flying, splattering the floor and walls and Gavin with warm red.

Gavin ignores the warmth sliding down his face and neck in favor of turning towards the building he knows Ray to be inhabiting at the moment, and he's sure the sniper sees the thumbs up and wide grin that he sends his way.

Gavin wipes the blood off of him, smearing it across his skin, but it doesn't bother him as much as it occasionally might. Must be the thrill of a job well done.

And then later on, when Gavin is piled back into the van and Ray is slouched next to him with his sniper resting snug in between his legs, Gavin remembers he’s figured it out. Why the curious glances and whispers behind his back turned into people actively searching for him. Why a plethora of crew members have suddenly been coming to him in rapid succession. Why Ryan took him out on a job and why Lindsay took time out of her day just to hang out.

Ray is a sneaky son of a bitch, really.

He sees where Ray is coming from, seeing Gavin all disheveled and exhausted. He must've looked on the brink of death to everyone else. Pulling him away from _everything_ was a good call in all honesty.

Gavin sighs. “Thanks.”

Ray looks up and glances at Gavin out of the corner of his eyes, but he definitely knows Gavin is talking to him.

“What for?” Ray asks after a moment, pulling at the string of his hoodie

He knows.

“You know.”

Ray grins up at him. “Yeah, I do. Do me a favor next time though, don’t run yourself into the ground. Can't be dropping everything just to make sure you don't fucking kill yourself.”

“I’ll try my best,” Gavin says with a smile of his own.

Ray knocks their shoulders together. “And hey, who knows, maybe getting away for a few days will do you a world of good.”

“Maybe,” Gavin responds.

When they get back to the base and Gavin has a quick shower to wipe off the sticky blood, he changes into a pair of comfortable clothes and gets ready to sleep. In a strange change of heart from a few days ago, he willingly turns off his phone and then crashes in a spare bedroom.

He gets some of the best sleep in his life.

* * *

 **7**.

Not that he'll ever admit it to his face, because then he'd never stop being a smug little prick about it, but Ray might've been right. Taking a step away from not only the Mogar case, but every single case he was working on does a world of wonders. It allows him to sit back at his desk with a fresh pair of eyes, no bags underneath them at all.

And that he does. Gavin slinks into his office the next morning ― which is more like mid afternoon, really ― laptop tucked under an arm and dressed comfortably in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. Placing the laptop on the edge of the desk, he takes the time to stretch his too long limbs. He pulls out his chair and plops down into the seat. Rolling his neck, Gavin opens the laptop and logs in.

He spends the next few minutes opening up a few current projects and skimming through his emails. Gavin even starts planning another hacking adventure into the FBI database, which would take a while to plan and execute. As it is, Lawrence can hack into their systems in under an hour, which Gavin has trouble achieving. Things can’t stay like that, not on his watch.

Unbelievably, for once in the past few months, Gavin's focus is completely and utterly on actual work, but he does have a few possible Mogar leads queued up to look through in short bursts. He doesn't plan on looking through much of the information right now anyway. It's gone unsolved this far, who's to say it can't wait a little longer?

Eventually, after flipping through tabs and looking through downloaded files, Gavin ends up back to where it all started: the bank heist video. It's linked with an article about Los Santos’ biggest and baddest (Mogar makes the list, which Gavin isn't even surprised by anymore) and Gavin decides to watch it again. For old times’ sake. 

By now, the movement of virtually every person has become engraved into his mind, from Mogar, to the bank tellers; even the most grainy of patrons as they duck for cover from the falling debris and puffs of dust. As the walls crumble and Mogar emerges like some sort of angelic creature from the wreckage, Gavin's eyes trail through the familiar sight. Dark clothes and backpack. A bear mask. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Wait a minute.

A bear mask. An extremely realistic bear mask that doesn’t look like anything you’d get at any other store. A _bear mask_. Gavin stares at the screen, watching the video unfold in front of him, and he finally realizes the answer to the question that’s been bugging him for months.

It’s the mask. The answer is the fucking mask.

* * *

Well shit.

* * *

And this is the real kicker, the thing that has Gavin feeling like a complete moron: the answer is always so simple after you’ve figured it out. Gavin does feel like an utter fool at the easy answer, staring him so blindly in the face, just sitting there tauntingly.

From the videos posted by both the LSPD and random citizens that may have caught a second or two of footage, as well as countless eyewitness descriptions, Gavin actually has a fairly distinctive mask to go off of. Gavin exits out of the tab with an excited chirp and gets back to work, the new promising lead constant in the back of his mind all the while. Taking a page right out of Geoff’s book, he simply puts the information away for a later date, feeling excited about what might come next.

He doesn’t confide in Ray in the days that follow the discovery, instead opting to keep it to himself. Just in case. But even if he does try his best to keep the information to himself, Ray definitely figures out that something is up right away. Gavin becomes almost flighty; he definitely is more fidgety than before.

So, Ray notices. But he doesn’t say anything to Gavin about it, nor to the rest of the crew as far as Gavin is aware. Whether it be out of respect for Gavin himself, or a tactical choice on his part to avoid being collateral damage if this goes south, Gavin isn’t sure. Either way, he’s thankful for the decision.

It takes Gavin more than a few days to find the time to be able to begin an uninterrupted search. He doesn’t want to draw the same attention as he had before by working himself ragged. Most people had assumed it was a fluke, that he was just feeling down on his luck for a while, and that he’d finally managed to get out of his funk. Gavin doesn’t want people asking questions, so he puts on his big boy pants and acts like a normal human being.

But the moment Geoff let’s him go for more than a day, he glues himself to his computer and locks himself in that apartment to begin his search. The mask is very unique, but Gavin still ends up with a few hopeful look alikes and no idea which is the one Mogar wears. He spends a few hours connecting them to their manufacturing companies and eliminates a few that don’t deliver to the Los Santos area. From there, he draws a map of the stores where they do deliver, and finds the particularly high number displeasing.

“Fucking hell,” Gavin groans, running a hand through his hair. He starts from scratch.

One hundred and eighty-two. There are one hundred and eighty-two available stores, some independently owned, others are part of a franchise. He has one hundred and eighty-two stores to look through, and figure out exactly how many people bought the mask, and then do background checks on them to find someone who _might_ be Mogar. One hundred and eighty-two fucking stores.

With no choice, Gavin cracks down and gets to work.

As time trickles by and Gavin watches the sun move across the sky from his open window, he amasses lists of names from each and every store. Then he begins mostly shallow background checks. Name, age, location, possible run ins with the law. Anything that might give him something to go off of. Names are slowly crossed off his list, however, and hopeful leads crash and burn as he delves deeper.

It’s surprising, how many people buy bear masks for whatever reason. And Gavin only goes as far back as the year before Mogar was first identified by that mask of his. Which isn’t many years, but still too many years all the same.

And it isn’t that the mask is in popular demand, per say, despite the city’s curiosity with its most violent and high profile criminals. But people do certainly seem to be plucking the damn things off the shelf at a rate that pisses Gavin off because he’s the one who has to do background checks on them.

Still, he takes the painstaking time to write down a list of potentials and start his search. Even after running a basic background on all eight hundred and something people that thought to themselves _“huh, what a nifty thing to own”_ before purchasing a realistic bear mask, he still has a hefty number on his hands.

Now, Gavin knows there’s a chance that the person behind the mask might not have a rap sheet to their name, but most high end criminals generally have at the very least a speeding ticket or small record for disorderly conduct at some point in their lives. Gavin himself has a few in England for his previous klepto tendencies back in his teenage years.

If all the names he has written down ― which is a lot, because, well it’s Los Santos, and having a rap sheet is kind of a necessity to even live in the city ― end up a bust, then he’ll have to start again, including the people who’d never been behind bars for even an hour. That’ll make his list explode exponentially, and Gavin hopes ― no, _prays_ ― that is doesn’t come to that. Even if Gavin can find loads of information at an alarming rate, it’ll take months to go through every single name.

As it currently is, names are being crossed from his list at a breakneck speed, and the people who these names belong to are all so starkly different. Certainly interesting to learn about, Gavin thinks, but never the person he’s looking for. A teenage girl with five breaking and entering charges to her name, an old man who’d been quite the thief back in his day, a middle aged woman on probation for the next three years, a thirty-something year old with seven kids and a record that’s been clean since 1995.

He even finds a fellow hacker among the list, but after trailing them for a while he finds they’d moved halfway across the country a few years prior and have nothing to do with Los Santos anymore.

It takes him a few days to look through every single name, going to the point of setting up three computers at home and using his laptop just to keep things moving as fast as possible. Despite his best efforts, he still ends up with bags under his eyes by the time he has to go back to the base when Geoff calls him in. They aren’t particularly bad, and Gavin can excuse them by saying he got a bad night of sleep.

By the end of it all, he has a smaller list of a few dozen hopefuls, and a crick in his neck from being bent over for so long. So that’s definitely something.

When Gavin starts going over the list in depth, complete with background searches that go all the way to their birth for every single hopeful clue that they even have some chance of being Mogar. But as he makes his way through the list, going name to name, something just eats at him all the while. Because there's one man in particular that Gavin had skimmed over before adding to the hopeful list, and he thinks that perhaps he already knows the answer to the question he's been posing for quite a while.

See, here's the thing: Geoff, for the entire duration of their friendship, has always told him to trust his instincts, but still be weary. Pure instincts can only get him so far. Gavin should trust them, sure, but he always has to be able to back them up with undeniable facts, with the backup of another crew member, with _something_.

He could certainly trust his gut to take him in the right direction, but hey should be completely positive before he goes forward with anything.

And normally he would.

But, the months of searching have added up and Gavin is just tired. But most of all, he's sure, he's so fucking sure that he finally figured out what’s evaded him for so long. He scrolls through the list towards what he knows is the truth. Insignificant names fade away, leaving the answer to the question that has been plaguing Gavin for a long time.

The name, which is surrounded by a sea of names both above and below it, shoots out to him like a bullet, and Gavin immediately pulls up the arrest reports. Eyes, so light they almost glow like fire, stare right back at him, almost taunting, and Gavin knows.

He’s got him. He finally knows who Mogar is.

* * *

 **8**.

Michael Vincent Jones is a twenty-six year old New Jersey navy with three arson charges to his name. And a petty theft charge. And owning firearms without a permit. And a few others. The list of offenses isn't what is most prominent about the man, however, and it certainly isn’t what strikes Gavin when he reads his rap sheet.

It's interesting to read about him blowing up an abandoned building (which, according to his documented interview, he'd done “just for fun” when he was fifteen), sure, but what really draws Gavin in are his mugshots.

Well.

There are multiple, and they showcase the pyromaniac as he grows up into what is undoubtedly a fierce sight to behold. The first one shows Michael as a scraggly teenager with long hair and glasses, looking far too young and innocent and awkward for the situation he was in. But Gavin can see the smug pleasure hiding behind his eyes, proud of what he did, the amusement over what he’s done. Another picture shows Michael as much older, by a few years, at least ― with short cropped hair and a black eye, squinting at the camera, lips pulled into almost a sneer. He looks like he takes the mindset of it's me versus the world to heart. The most recent one, from California, is only about two years old. It shows his curly hair falling over his forehead in layers, covering the upper part of his ears. It also finally shows his matured face without the glasses and black eye, complete with a shit eating grin and _dimples_.

And Gavin… Gavin is smitten in a second.

Well isn't that just a kick to the balls?

Michael’s hair reminds him of fire embers on the verge of giving out, dark and reddish and messy, which is very fitting given his method of dealing with anything and everything. It's his most striking feature, as far as Gavin can see, but that might be different if he sees the man in person. Police photos are never the highest quality, and Gavin idly wonders if Michael has freckles while he trains his eyes on the pictures. Probably, if the hair and fair skin is anything to go by.

Oh boy, this is just not fair. Michael looks lovely. Michael looks completely and utterly unfairly attractive.

After staring at the photos directly next to each other for a good few moments, Gavin let's out a groan and slams his forehead against the counter of his flat’s kitchen where he'd eventually figured it out. The pride of figuring it out bubbles in his chest, along with the burst of frustration over the situation as a whole.

Life sure does like to screw over Gavin Free, huh?

Gavin spends the next hour looking through Michael's past to forge a strong connection to what he already knows to be true: Michael Jones is Mogar.

Michael stirs up all types of trouble on the East coast for the first twenty-four years of his life, setting fires and robbing stores and purchasing weapons illegally. He seems to be sitting pretty there, and is certainly living comfortably. Gavin thinks he's got no reason to leave, based purely on what he can surmise from what he is able to read. But… well the reason Gavin had left England stayed completely off the record, so who knows.

Whatever the reason, Michael takes to the road and starts a slow journey towards the opposite side of the country. It takes him well over a year to make his way into Los Santos, based off motel bills in his name. He stays in Nashville for a while. Chicago, too. Michael's longest stay is in Las Vegas however, but he eventually leaves that city as well and makes his way through California.

Later, Michael settles in Los Santos ―  _really_ settles. He signs the lease on an apartment and makes the city his new home. When he comes into the city, Geoff is still on the up and up, starting to make a name for himself. Michael seems to mind his own business, gets a job as a mechanic and robs a bank in his first year. Gavin is pretty sure he robbed that bank. After watching the footage, he doesn't think there's anyone else who could have done it.

But despite that, he apparently has no intentions of becoming Mogar, the biggest pyro in all of Los Santos. However, when turf wars start cropping up, when Geoff is finally respected by thousands and feared by more, when Gavin is moving on from being that scared kid who was boarding a plane with a fake passport, Michael's true colors start to come through.

Geoff once told him that no one could refuse their natural instincts. Gavin can't seem to stay away from wires and screens. Michael, it seems, can't stay away from flames.

This is when Mogar starts causing trouble for the LSPD ― actual trouble. Bombs, explosives, fires. Anything that gets things to _burn_.

Gavin wonders what kind of person Michael is fundamentally. Probably hot headed, with a short temper. He's probably all hard lines and rough attitude. Nothing soft and round about him. It's an idea that makes Gavin feel warm.

Oh, this is not good.

Because herein lies the issue: Ray knows him; Geoff knows him; Ryan knows him; Jack _definitely_ knows him. They know all his tells, what gets him riled up, and they most definitely know when he has a crush. He isn't exactly discreet about it either, all smiles and ruddy cheeks. Gavin isn’t the most subtle person, generally because he doesn’t see much of a reason to be.

But this could prove to be quite a problem if he can’t rein this damn infatuation in. Someone ― other than Ray, that is ― could take notice and do something about it, and then Gavin would be in really deep shit with Geoff. The man loves him, that’s for sure, but he won’t take anyone’s bullshit, not even Gavin’s. This was so stupid, why did he think it was a good idea to do this, why, why, _why_ ―

He never should have done this, he never should have looked for Mogar without getting the green light from Geoff. This would have maybe resulted in less sleepless nights and less anxieties about being discovered. Geoff is going to fucking kill him, _Geoff is going to kill him_ ―

He’s done.

Fuck it, he’s done. It doesn’t matter how long this has been going on, or how amazing Michael is ― no matter how amazing he _seems_. Gavin is putting on his big boy pants and getting over Michael.

No, no, not Michael. _Mogar_.

And despite everything, despite the amount of time Gavin dedicated to the search for his real identity, and despite the fact that he knows Michael is actually Mogar, he doesn’t think it would be a good idea to go around talking about _Michael_ like he knows him. Because he doesn't know him. Gavin doesn't know Michael, and he doesn't really even know Mogar.

So Gavin exits out of everything ― he’ll delete it later, after he has the bravery to ― and closes the laptop with a snap, intent on forgetting this entire misadventure. He should be turning his full attention back to where it actually belongs: crew work.

He pads his way into his bedroom and changes into a pair of jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt. Tucking his feet into a pair of loafers, Gavin spends a few minutes combing his hand through his hair while he pockets his phone, wallet, and keys so that he can head out.

As of now, the plan is to head out to the base and get an early start on a recent plan of Geoff’s. It’ll be a good distraction, he knows, because Geoff had told him it would take a few weeks of prep time, and they’d have to be collecting tons of information.

Gavin locks his apartment and takes the elevator down to the garage, hopping into one of his cars and peeling out to the streets. Los Santos is never quiet, not even at this time of night. People are walking through the streets, hunched over and minding their business. Cars drive through the streets, sleek and glowing under fluorescent lights. Gavin travels out of the city however, off to the desert where it’s deathly quiet.

Arriving at the base a little after three in the morning, Gavin parks the car and makes his way towards the looming building, punching in the key code into one of the side doors. It leads up into a stairwell, and Gavin climbs the staircase up to the second floor where his office is.

Walking past Geoff’s office, he’s not surprised to find Jack and Geoff peering at some documents laid out on the desk. They spare a second to respond to his wordless waves as he walks down towards his own office. Those two are generally constants in the base, but it isn’t really ever something to bat an eyelash over if another member decides to show up in the middle of the night.

Sometimes Ray wants to get in an early practice round or two with a new rifle. Sometimes Ryan spends most of the night taking care of after hours business and curls up for a nap on the couch. Gavin himself will mostly come if he’s under duress to make a deadline for something, but he has just shown up in the past when about of insomnia happens to hit him. Right now it’s technically neither option, but he doesn’t vocalize that in any way, and no one bothers to ask.

With the exception of night patrol ― a system of lower level crew members who switch out nightly to keep up security ― the base is fairly empty. Gavin makes his way down a hallway, paying little attention to a man leaning against the wall with an assault rifle in his hands. The guard nods at him, and Gavin waves a hand in response before moving on towards his office. He's a very familiar face to the rest of the crew, and it certainly helps when he doesn't feel like being stopped by someone who might not be as acquainted with every single member that makes their way through the base on the daily.

Gavin unlocks the office door and shoulders his way inside, not bothering closing the door behind him. After booting up his systems, he ventures back outside to locate a snack from the kitchenette while they’re all turning on.

To his surprise, he finds Ryan sitting at the counter, nursing a can of diet coke in his hands. The black mask is nowhere to be seen, and there’s a dark smudge on his forehead from the paint he’d probably washed off at some point. When he makes his way into the main room, Ryan looks up and offers a nod of his head.

“It’s late. Didn’t expect to see you here tonight,” Ryan tells him.

Gavin shrugs in response, making his way over to the cabinets and pulling one open, rummaging through it for something to munch on. “Couldn’t really sleep.”

Ryan nods, accepting the answer. “Doing some late night work?”

“Yeah. Figured that if I couldn't sleep, I might as well get something useful done,” Gavin says, plucking out a packet of cookies. “Where is Ray?”

“He went home earlier today, Geoff is putting him out on a job in the morning and he wanted to be well rested,” Ryan answers.

Gavin can admit it, he’s a little jealous of Ray and Ryan. Their relationship works, despite the chaotic nature of their lifestyle. Not knowing if you’re going to make it through a job unscathed ― or even _alive_ , for that matter ― can put a damper on a romantic relationship really quickly if you can’t balance both. Sometimes it’s like they don’t even care, though. Sometimes it’s just Ray and Ryan versus the rest of the world. Sometimes the rest of the world just disappears.

It’s not even about Ryan and Ray’s relationship in particular. It’s the idea of having someone who could readily love him and want him. It’s not something Gavin ever had. He doubts it’s something most of them have ever had.

Geoff had once told him he’d had a wife, back before all of this. She’s off in Liberty City now though, with a gang of her own to worry about. According to Geoff, he still loves her terribly, probably more than how own life, but he knows they can’t be together. It’s a fact of life, and a consequence of the job.

Jack told him she’d never been in love before, but it sounded nice. She’s also the most level headed of them all, and Gavin figures she might also be holding back because she understands the dangers of falling in love. It’s a new weakness that can be exploited. A new danger.

Gavin sits on a precarious fence. On one hand, he understands people like Jack, and, to some extent, Geoff. But on the other hand, he sees Ray walk into a room and wordlessly plop down on Ryan’s lap, Ryan accepting it without a thought. He sees how Ryan’s personality has grown for the better since meeting Ray. And he sees how Ray will sometimes stare at Ryan with adoration when the other man isn’t looking.

“You going home yet?” Gavin fiddles with the wrapper.

“Yeah, I was planning to go home to check on him soon,” Ryan answers.

Home.

Gavin thinks he wants to find a home with someone.

Shaking his head to get the thoughts out of his head, Gavin shoots Ryan a smile before making his way out of the main room and back to his office. If Ryan notices how out of it he seems to be, he doesn’t say anything.

* * *

 **9**.

So, Gavin has a few problems to deal with.

It's nothing he can't handle though. Probably.

That night, his office feels a little to small, a little too much like a cage for him to be comfortable. By the time the sun starts to pour in through open windows, Gavin hasn’t actually gotten much work done. All of the files are open on the monitors, but he can’t bring himself to work on looking through them and deciphering them.

Crew members start coming through the doors, and Gavin even gets to see Ray, if only for a moment, before he’s off on that job that Geoff had decided to send him on.

Gavin eventually gives up on work altogether, his mind too much of a jumbled mess, and decides to take a small nap to try and make up for the complete lack of sleep the entire night. Despite being so wired up, he still manages to sneak in an hour nap before Jack seems to sniff him out and wakes him up for a quick meeting with Geoff.

Gavin squashes down the anxiety that starts to well up in his throat. He’s done with Mogar, he has no reason to worry about “being discovered” or whatever it was that had him so paranoid these past few months.

As it turns out, after he drags himself out of the bed and over to Geoff’s office, the man only had inquiries about his last job, and whether he’d started on the new one. “We saw you coming in late last night, so I’m just wondering,” Geoff tells him. “No pressure, though.”

“Yeah, I started,” Gavin says, idly scratching his chin. He makes the smart decision to leave out the fact that he barely got any work done.

Geoff nods, seemingly pleased with the answer. “Good, we need that information as fast as possible so we can move forward with the planning. I’m proud of you, Free.”

There’s a hot flash of shame that bursts in Gavin’s chest. He nods his head and manages to plaster a fake smile on his face. He goes back into his office with a resolve not to let this entire fiasco get the better of him, and focuses his search on what really matters.

Life goes back to normal.

Life _should_ go back to normal.

It doesn’t.

All the files he has on Mogar stay on his computer, taunting him. Gavin can’t let it go. He _can’t,_  okay? The files remain unopened, the list of aliases Mogar uses go unchecked, and Gavin keeps his nose out of where it doesn’t belong.

But he just can’t let it go.

It stays constant in the back of his mind, tempting in so many ways. It’s been months since this whole things started, and Geoff hasn’t come to him with anything about wanting to recruit Mogar. He probably never will, too. Jack hasn’t brought it up either. Gavin realizes it was probably a one off thing that he might have taken a bit too far.

Perhaps it’s for the best that Gavin move on. This obsession has pretty much wrecked him. He’s constantly exhausted and paranoid, and it’s not healthy.

But Mogar hits another bank only a week after Gavin decides he’s done, and Gavin’s resolve breaks. 

* * *

 **10**.

See, the thing is, Gavin knows he lacks self control. Always has, always will. It's a trait woven into every corner of his soul; but even this is a little much for him.

Going to the warehouse that’s listed under one of Michael Jones’ aliases is a tad stupid, even for him, but he _has_ to know. Biding his time for an opportunity proves to be difficult, because he knows the possible dangers of just up and vanishing when he’s a key player of the Fake AH. He waits until he has a day off; until Geoff ruffles his hair and tells him to get his ass home and not show up for a day or two, but to keep in touch.

And Gavin does.

When he goes home, he hacks into the security feed of Mogar’s apartment complex, and the streets that surround it, tracking his movements. Mogar shows up at his apartment mid afternoon, wearing a blue jumpsuit and a brown bomber jacket, a motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm. Gavin surmises he must be getting out of work. Tragically there’s no cameras set up inside the apartment, so Gavin can’t be sure what he’s doing in there.

So he sets up an alarm to notify him when there’s movement at the door and cracks down on some crew work that needs to be done in the meanwhile. By the time the sun starts sinking through the sky, he’s about to give up. The only alert he’d received was for a neighbor who happened to walk past the camera on their way out of the complex.

Gavin is about to give up, but then Michael leaves his apartment at around nine at night, clean looking and wearing dark clothing. He doesn’t have the helmet with him this time, but instead has a familiar bag slung over his shoulder while he locks the door behind him.

After trailing him to the garage and out into the open streets, Gavin watches Mogar drive through the Los Santos streets, and he tracks the trail to see what his destination might be. Mogar seems to be heading out of the city, and if the direction he seems to be heading in is anything to go by, Gavin knows where he’s going.

With a flourish, Gavin stands up from his seat and quickly changes into dark wash jeans and a button up. He spends more time than he’s willing to admit to make sure his hair is immaculate, meticulously grooming it to perfection. But definitely not because he's about to go meet up with a cute criminal who might kill him.

But…

Speaking of criminals.

As a precaution, Gavin holsters his favorite pistol at his side, hiding it underneath his shirt. Sparing a minute to slide his golden shades over his eyes, he goes to leave the apartment.  Ray would definitely call him a pretentious asshole for wearing shades while the sun isn't even out, Gavin just _knows_.

He bristles at the thought (fuck you Ray, this is top tier fashion) and grabs his keys and phone off the counter, pocketing them. He lets himself out of the flat and locks the door behind him, uncertainty finally beginning to pool in his stomach.

Oh, God, what the hell is he even doing?

This is a bad idea. This is a terrible idea.

Gavin goes down to the complex’s garage and tosses a leg over one of his motorcycles. He's pretty sure he owns well over half of the vehicles in this garage, but he never gets any complaints because hey, a little money goes a long way. He turns on the bike, letting the rhythmic purr become white noise in his ears while he puts on his helmet, careful with his hair.

Yeah, he's definitely going to die. Why the hell is he even doing this?

The night is starting to cool when he peels out of the garage and into the busy Los Santos streets. Harsh artificial lights illuminate the way out of the city, almost leading him in the direction he knows he has to go, and Gavin's grip on the handle tightens.

He doesn't have to do this. But he definitely _wants_ to.

Time starts to trickle by, and Gavin makes the trek out of the city, going in what is basically the opposite direction of where their base is. This far out in Los Santos, Geoff’s reign is thin and just barely on the up and up, and Gavin knows that getting recognized in this area could prove to be a problem. Despite this, he persists, continuing down the streets as quick as he can be while avoiding police. Joel and Adam, as well as any officer that Geoff has on his payroll, tend to keep to known Fake AH territory as much as possible. Gavin is also unfortunately without a license of any kind right now (or ever), so some naive bright eyed cop straight out of the academy getting a hero complex and trying to bring him in? Well, that wouldn't bode well for anyone involved, especially the cop.

Geoff really hates it when they kill a police officer, because the fallout is always messy and very public, and Geoff really likes discrepancy when it comes to murders. Unless they're done to prove a point or get a message across. Or indulges Ryan’s wishes, which is far more rare nowadays.

Outer Los Santos is far more barren and quiet than deeper inside the city, but Gavin pushes forward, eyes locked on the road in front of him until buildings eventually fade into desert. Gavin keeps going until the city starts to fade into bright indistinguishable lights.

He likes the look of the desert. The dry heat of the day isn't particularly enjoyable, but when the sun gives way to the moon, the air cools. And Gavin finds the desert to be rather pretty. He drives down a thin road past cacti and succulents, eventually turning down the barely there impression of a road, towards the direction of the warehouse.

And he eventually sees artificial light in the distance, slowly giving way to a two story metal building. It's extremely off road, and on the thinner side, with at the very least two floors to its name; or a very tall ceiling. Driving past it, one might assume it to be a run of the mill government owned building out in the desert. There's a lot more of those than one might expect, used for various things―both legal and otherwise. Gavin is convinced that some government officials―at least, the ones not on Geoff's side―use the buildings to conduct their illegal businesses, and most people either don't think about those buildings when they drive by, or know to avoid it for that very reason.

In any case, Gavin finds two cars parked out front, and that is something that is out of place given the location of the building, and the time of day. The fact that he recognizes one of the cars as the one Mogar had been driving in the camera footage is only more proof of what Gavin already knew. He parks his own motorcycle a ways away out of precaution, and inches his way through long dead grass and over to the tall building. There's a garage door in the front―or, what seems to be the front―with a thick industrial door next to it. Gavin opts to creep around until he finds a smaller, more inconspicuous door that has a chipped red coat of paint.

So, Gavin knows it's a terrible idea to sneak into the building, but he'll be the first to admit that he's got some impulse control issues he needs to deal with. But there's no one here to stop him, and so Gavin pulls out the lock pick he always keeps on him, shoving it into the lock. The sound of metal hitting metal cuts through the silent chilly night, and Gavin tries to work as quickly as possible.

When the door clicks open a few minutes later, Gavin let's out a huff of air and pushes the door open slowly, mindful of any creaky noises. He pushes himself up to his knees and shoulders his way into the building, shrouded by darkness in an instant.

There’s a dim light that doesn’t reach his end of the hallway, and Gavin starts to feel for walls so he can inch his way forward towards the light. He’s careful to avoid anything that happens to be laying on the floor so he doesn’t make any noise. Mogar seems to be a very cluttered person of the amount of junk he has lying around is anything to go by.

At the end of the small walkway, it opens to a big room with chains hanging from the ceiling and shelves lining the walls, full of wires and containers. As his eyes slowly descend Gavin sees, under harsh artificial lighting, a series of long tables. Gavin can see sticky bombs and C4 and a few boxes of shell cases.

And sitting at one of the tables, working on what is probably the biggest bomb Gavin has ever seen, is Mogar. Mogar is not exactly what Gavin had expected. He'd seen the photos of him, sure, but seeing the man in the flesh was something completely different.

His red hair looks muted under the fluorescent lights, and they cast a shadow over his face that makes his features seem far more angular than they perhaps really are. His hands are working nimbly with the wires, and his eyes are trained on his work, glasses precariously hanging from his nose. It's still surreal, to see Mogar _right_ _there_.

And, well, like he said, Gavin has always had impulse control issues. It’s what lead him to stand here, in the warehouse of a man with a hair thin temper and a penchant for blowing shit up. So he opens his mouth and words start pouring out a moment later.

“Well, you're not what I expected.”

Mogar's head jerks up, and his eyes are huge, zeroing on Gavin in a second. He shoots to the side immediately, trying to get away or diving for what Gavin knows is probably a weapon some kind.

Gavin knows he's not a fighter, but he is very nimble, and launches into the air, over the table, over the C4, over the _bomb_ , and crashes into Mogar, successfully knocking him off his feet. They both go tumbling towards the floor, Gavin landing on top of Mogar’s body. Just as quick, he rolls onto his side and shoots up to his feet before Mogar can pin him to the floor, taking a few steps back to put some distance between them..

Mogar is on his feet a second later, chest heaving. He looks like he's ready to pounce, to go out with fists flying. It's not like Gavin had expected anything less from the explosive man.

“Before you do anything,” Gavin says quickly, hands raising up to his chest. “You might like to hear me out.”

Mogar blinks, and oh God he does have freckles, Gavin fucking called it.

“ _What_?”

It’s the first time he’s hearing his voice. Gavin doesn’t know exactly what it was he had expected. Something smooth perhaps. Deep. Mogar’s voice is nice however, Gavin can admit. Not as deep and rugged as he might’ve assumed, but definitely not disappointing.

“I said,” Gavin starts, hands slowly lowering. Mogar’s eyes follow their every move. “You might want to hear me out before you kill me. Or, well, try to kill me.”

Mogar’s eyes widen at that, almost as if he can’t believe how arrogant Gavin is being. It’s a persona, a part he plays when going out on jobs. The charismatic asshole is kind of his shtick, and he plays the part so well. He can see Mogar falling for it just as easy as everyone else, believing him to really be that kind of person.

“Are you fucking insane?” Mogar growls, and _fuck_. “Are you seriously this fucking stupid? I should kill you right now.”

Gavin responds with a snide, far too smug comment of his own, and suddenly it’s like a game of volleyball. They go back and forth, exchanging words that make the situation progressively more dangerous. They’re teetering, on the verge of snapping.

A pistol is leveled to his head, but Gavin doesn’t back down. Can’t back down.

Except, after Mogar remembers the bombs, the entire situation changes in a flash. Gavin finds Mogar’s hand entangled with his and suddenly they’re running. The bombs go off, and he ends up topping into Mogar’s arms.

So, Gavin has a few problems to deal with.

But most of them fade into the background when he feels something slam into his back and knock him unconscious. _Most_ of them.


	3. Chapter 3

**11**.

See, the thing is that Gavin, for all of his amassed intelligence and computer skills, is actually kind of an idiot. Planning just isn't his forte, plain and simple. When push comes to shove, he's happy to leave the planning to Geoff (who, if everyone is being honest, probably relies heavily on Jack) and the execution to Ryan and Ray and anyone else who is definitely not him.

It's this thought that hits him when he wakes up, followed by soft tendrils of pain that quickly bloom into a splitting headache that throbs against the base of his skull. Groaning, Gavin tries to blink his eyes open and figure out where the hell he is, only to immediately shut them from the sheer brightness of the room.

Alright, Plan B it is.

Gavin moves to prop himself on his elbows, except, when he tries to sit up, there's another flash of pain on both his back and abdomen, so sharp and sudden that it almost feels like the pain is _everywhere_. He sucks in a breath, hands frantically coming up to clutch the side of his head, hunching into himself, trying to focus on something ―  _anything_ ― besides the white hot pain.

The next thing that registers through the pain doesn't make him feel any better. Under normal circumstances, perhaps he'd ease into the touch, allow whoever it was to hold him gently. But these are not normal circumstances. It's a hand that comes up to gently graze the side of his head, and Gavin immediately tries to wiggle away from it.

(But, here's the thing: when days have passed and the memories resurface, it's soft hands and darkness and a gentle brush of skin that Gavin will be able to vaguely remember about all those times he'd barely opened his eyes and consciousness teased at the back of his mind.)

“Please stop fucking squirming or I'm really going to regret saving your life,” a voice says softly, as if it was talking to itself rather than to Gavin. Then the hands move away from his temple and down to his shoulders, pressing against him to keep him rooted in place.

Gavin doesn't let himself be guided back down. He _has_ to get away, has to get back to safety. He doesn’t even know who is speaking ― doesn’t recognize the voice. And in his line of business, that’s kind of a dangerous thing. He squirms, and he feels his mouth fall open, forming words he doesn't think about before they’re just pouring out of him. He thinks he might have said “please” or “no” at some point. The hands still for a moment, and someone's breath hitches before the hands are back, more insistent than before.

The pain never dulls, but Gavin's murky mind seems to fight through the haze just enough to register words as they're being spoken to him.

“I'm not going to hurt you, idiot,” the voice says far more firmly than before. “Now stop moving before you hurt _yourself_. I'd really hate to have to knock you out.”

The hands move away from his shoulders, flitting back up and resting against his forehead, as if checking his temperature. “You're kinda dumb, you know that? How did the Fakes even let you into their crew? Jesus Christ.”

“Wouldn't be the first time someone's asked that question,” Gavin manages to croak out, throat feeling raw and painful.

Gavin hears what has to be a short puff of laughter come from somewhere next to him, and he cranes his neck to try and look over, eyes blinking open and finally managing to adjust to the harsh lights. When his sight starts to clear up, he stares up into warm brown eyes that look down at him from under curly auburn hair with a just barely there amusement.

Oh.

“Mogar.”

Mogar grins at that, and oh God, there are those fucking dimples, right there in plain sight for Gavin to see. “Guess I don’t have to worry about you having amnesia.”

“No,” Gavin responds slowly. “You don't.”

Mogar nods, accepting the answer and then says, “Here, drink this.”

A second later there's a glass of water being shoved right under his nose. He takes it, holding it precariously in a weak grasp as he tries to sit up. He manages to prop himself up onto his elbows, a new thrum of pain blooming from his back because of it. It, along with Mogar’s hands pressing at his shoulders, stop him from moving up any further. There’s a soft pressure pushing him back down, and Gavin allows himself to be lowered back into the mattress.

“Where are we?” Gavin asks, trying to lift the glass up to his lips despite the unsteady shake of his hand. He fails, and Mogar’s hand moves up to cover his, gently guiding the glass to his mouth. Gavin drinks greedily, sucking in a breath through his nose.

“One of my apartments,” Mogar responds, pulling the glass away slowly.

Gavin’s lips almost chase after the liquid, but he knows moderation is probably the best. Instead he slowly eases himself back down as much as he can manage without disrupting his back. After placing the glass down and being seemingly content that Gavin won’t be trying to get up, Mogar leans back into a chair he’s pulled up next to the bed, kicking his feet onto the edge.

“Had to drag you out of the warehouse and into my car after you passed out ― which, you’re way heavier than you look, just so you know ― and this was the closest place I could get you to,” Mogar tells him. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what, exactly? Blowing me up?” Gavin asks, wincing in pain. His whole damn body seems to ache, and he reserves the right to feel at least a little bitter about that.

“If that was anyone’s fault, it was your own,” Mogar replies snappily, rolling his eyes. Bright and vibrant eyes that remind Gavin of flames, especially in this lighting. He shoves the thoughts down immediately. “But that isn’t what I meant, and we both know it.

“I meant that aren’t you going to thank me for saving your life? I could’ve just left you there to die. Or worse, I could’ve left you for the cops to find you. From what I recall you telling me, you’re definitely not a law abiding citizen,” Mogar tells him.

“I’m not even a citizen,” Gavin grumbles, and for some reason that makes Mogar laugh.

“No shit?” Mogar tosses his head back in a laugh, exposing an expanse of pale flesh, and Gavin adamantly ignores the warmth blooming across his cheeks. “Guess you’d be deported then.”

Gavin doesn't respond at first ― doesn't know how to ― and picks at a loose thread he manages to find on the thin blanket that's draped over him, hiding the extent of his injuries. He doesn't even know if he wants to see what state he’s in. If Gavin is half as wrecked as his aches lead him to believe, then it can't be good.

If Mogar minds the stagnant silence at all, he doesn't vocalize it. Instead, he seems almost content to loll his head from side to side, staring up at the ceiling in the meanwhile.

When Gavin can't take the silence anymore, when he just has to say something ―  _anything_ ― he grunts in frustration and asks, “So why'd you do it then?”

Mogar’s head snaps over to look at Gavin's face, and he mulls over the question.

Without much to do, Gavin's eyes are drawn to his t-shirt, jeans, the tattoos running along the exposed flesh of his arms, disappearing under the sleeve of his shirt. There are scrapes and bruises and burns on his hands and face, standing out starkly against the rest of his unblemished skin. It strikes Gavin how strange it is, seeing someone who's caused so much damage around Los Santos be so nonchalant and normal looking. It’s strange seeing them look so _human_.

“Do what?”

“Save me,” Gavin clarifies, but he feels Mogar already knows ― has to know.

Mogar seems pensive for a brief moment, arms crossing over his chest. “Guess you could say it was curiosity. You were spewing all kinds of bullshit about being one of Ramsey’s boys, about being a part of the FAHC. I’m not sure if your ego is just so fucking inflated that you’ve become delusional, or if you were telling the truth,” Mogar says, and then after a moment he adds, “Also, I'm a good fucking person.”

“You blow up buildings and rob hundreds of thousands of dollars on the daily, I do not believe that makes you a good person,” Gavin replies, and pointedly ignores the glare that is sent his way. “But I was telling the truth, you know. I really do work for Geoff Ramsey.”

Mogar’s lips curl from a scowl into a frown at that answer. “Alright, I'll bite then. Why'd one of the Fake decide to track me down?”

This is where the only response Gavin can muster is breaking eye contact and willing his blush to fuck off. He gets a brief moment to think, _well shit_ , before he knows he has to respond. What the hell was he even supposed to tell him? That his own borderline obsession was the reason he had decided to go looking for Mogar in the first place? Not a chance.

“No one is trying to bip you, especially not Geoff. If that's what's got you all wound up, you have no reason to be worried,” Gavin says, trying to deflect. It's the best he can do for now. “He actually complimented you on your skills, from what I can recall. Although as far as being a possible enemy or obstacle, Geoff isn't that concerned with you.”

“He has a right to have little concern,” Mogar replies stiffly. “I've heard what the Vagabond can do to people, and I have no wish to get on his bad side.”

“So staying out of FAHC territory was a conscious effort on your part then?”

Mogar nods his head in affirmation. “ _Very_ conscious on my part. Like I said, I don't want the Vagabond coming after me.”

“He's not so bad after you get to know him,” Gavin says with a small shrug. Seeing people be intimidated by Ryan is actually kind of hilarious when Gavin has seen him walk into a makeup store to look for new face paint and stand in line behind a group of giggling preteens.

“Tell that to all the people he’s killed,” Mogar grumbles under his breath, and now it's Gavin’s turn to laugh at him, just slightly, just as much as his body would allow him.

“I suppose you are right,” Gavin says. “I've got no counter to that argument.”

He's staring at his hands ― full of fairly nasty cuts and burns he hadn't noticed. Which begged the question: just how badly was he wounded? ― and Mogar is staring at him, and everything is brutally silent.

It's that little moment of quiet that allows Gavin to consider a few things. He's spent all this time looking for Mogar’s identity, and he knows the man's name now; but he doesn't know _Mogar_. Being where he is, alone with the man, could be dangerous, even deadly.

And that in itself is another thing. Gavin has literally no idea where he is right now. Somewhere in Los Santos, if Mogar's words hold any merit. But the city isn't a particularly small one, and Gavin doesn't have the capacity to figure out where he is at the moment, unless he wants to swallow his pride and ask. And he doesn’t.

Mogar breaks the silent panic welling up within him with a question, seemingly oblivious to Gavin's inner turmoil.

“So who are you, really? You haven't exactly been the most forthcoming about your identity,” Mogar says suddenly, leaning forward in his seat, wiping the palm of his hands on his jeans. “I know you're a member of the Fake AH Crew, but who are you?”

It's an answer that should be coming out of him fairly easy. People know him. Well, know of him. He doesn't go by any other moniker. His name can be as popular as Geoff's because of his past dealings with other crews, however his face is perhaps less so. It isn't that he keeps his identity under lock and key like Lindsay does, but he doesn't particularly flaunt it everywhere. It's what allows him to be great bait sometimes, looking like a nameless nobody.

Mogar will recognize the name, there's no doubt about it. Yet when Gavin opens his mouth to respond, his tongue feels heavy.

“If we're sharing names, I suppose you should start, Mogar,” is what comes out instead. And it comes out more snippy then he means to, more defensive.

Mogar squints his eyes at Gavin, a quick flash of something moving through them. Anger. Oh, that cannot be good.

“I'd appreciate it if you maybe didn't treat me like an idiot,” Mogar says, sounding far calmer than the fire in his eyes might imply. “I know you already know who I am. Just because you haven't said it doesn't mean you don't know. So, I'll ask again: who are you?”

The silence lingers. Gavin presses the palm of his hand into his eyes, ignoring the stab of pain from a cut on his temple he hadn't noticed before. He has to come clean if he wants to gain Mogar's trust, it's the only way if he wants to get out of here alive and with a new partner, he has to come clean―

He does.

“Gavin,” he says. “Gavin Free.”

He spares a glance at Mogar from underneath his eyelashes to see the name actually register in the man's mind. Mogar blinks rapidly, and Gavin can see the gears turning in his head. It clicks.

“ _You_? You're Gavin Free?” Mogar asks, eyebrows raising to unbelievable heights, shock flooding his face. Which Gavin takes some offense to.

Gavin bristles in response. “Yes, that's me. What of it?”

“I just can't believe that of all the members to come after me, it was the hacker,” Mogar responds after a moment.

“I may hold the most notoriety in being the crew’s hacker, but I am more than that. Far more,” Gavin replies, feeling a little offended. His greatest talent might be to sit in front of a screen, but he isn't useless in other situations.

“Didn't mean to offend,” Mogar says, picking up on Gavin's sour mood. His hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. “It's just, you were kind of a ghost. Never thought _you'd_ be the one seeking me out.

“Look, tech isn't exactly my forte, but I did as much research as I could before I jumped ship here, but the Fake AH was pretty slippery when it came to information. You were especially trouble, you know. All I could find about Gavin Free was the name in connection with other crews as an informant for hire before it just dropped off the radar completely.”

A desire to preen at the sort of compliment about his abilities is immediately pushed down into the deepest crevice that Gavin can find. Instead of a smug thank you, he chooses to say, “I held a similar regard for you actually. Since joining the Fake AH, I worked hard to keep legitimate information about our identities and past as much of a secret as I can. It's a continuous string of snuffing out leads and destroying evidence almost daily. So you understand that I do have to ask. How did you manage to conceal your identity all on your own? You are on your own, right?”

“Yeah, Gavin, I'm on my own.” Mogar shrugs, and Gavin hopes he doesn't notice the pink rising to his cheeks at his name coming out of the other man's mouth. “I mostly got lucky, but doing this shit on my own means I don't have anyone running their fucking mouths.”

Gavin runs his tongue over his lips, weighing his options. And he has quite a few to go through, he should really think before he acts, he should―

Fuck it.

“Doing this one your own is going to get you in trouble one day,” Gavin warns. “Or worse, it'll get you killed.”

The shift in Mogar is sudden. He closes off ― not that he'd been rather open to begin with though ― and his posture becomes stiff and still and very much looking like his fight or flight instinct is only seconds away from making itself known. “I'm not looking to pick up a partner. I do my best work alone.”

“I am just saying, working with people who will make sure you don't end up with a bullet in your back isn't as bad as you might think,” Gavin says softly. “We're all loyal to a fault.”

“To Geoff,” Mogar scoffs.

“To each other,” Gavin clarifies. “Mogar―”

“You know my name, might as well use it,” Michael deadpans, and then moves to stand. “Get some rest asshole, we'll talk when you don't look like you're five seconds away from death.”

“Michael―”

Michael is out the door before Gavin can get anything else out. Gavin slumps into the mattress and sighs. Michael is stalling, there's no way this is going to be easy. At least he hadn't said no. Well, he hadn't said yes either, but that was just a technicality.

He's sure he'll sway Michael eventually. Geoff might be a problem if Gavin doesn't act fast, however.

He must be far more exhausted than he'd realized, because tendrils of sleepiness come pouring in minutes after he's left alone, making his body feel like lead, numb and heavy. Just as sleep starts to claim him, Gavin has a moment to think.

_How long have I been missing?_

* * *

**12**.

Three days. It's been three days since he's had any sort of contact with another crew member, which definitely means both he and Michael are fucking screwed, point blank. They are so screwed and Geoff is going to end them.

He tends to lose his shit if one of his men doesn't check in with him in at least forty-eight hours, and while Gavin has always had a bit of a reputation for being a bit scatter brained about the whole thing, this was something else altogether. He hasn't been in contact with a single crew member in three entire days, and there's absolutely no way he can rectify that situation without his phone. Fuck, he's so forgetful, how could he let this happen?

It's when Gavin wakes up again after their initial conversation, still feeling completely like death, when it actually strikes him to ask. Michael is at the foot of the bed, ready to try to ply him with food. He dumps a few cups of applesauce into his lap and instructs him to eat what he can manage. Which isn't much, despite feeling completely famished and exhausted. His stomach starts feeling funny after the second cup, but he persists and pulls the tab off the third cup anyway.

“So,” Gavin starts through a mouthful of applesauce, adamant about ignoring his upset stomach. “How long have I been here exactly?”

“Almost three days.”

Applesauce falls on Gavin's lap, and he feels like ice cold water has just been poured down his back. Oh shit―

“ _What_.”

Michael blinks slowly, and responds with a casual shrug and a repeat of the words he just spoke. “Almost three days. It’s mid-Monday. You’ve been out since Friday night. Mostly.”

Gavin can’t find a response, but Michael, bless him, doesn’t wait for anything of the sort from Gavin anyway. He just launches into an in depth explanation of the events of Friday night, starting with the aftermath of the bombs going off. According to Michael, as soon as the explosions began, he’d managed to drag Gavin outside and stuffed him into the backseat of his car. Not wanting the deal with the inevitable questioning if he had gone to a hospital, Michael had just driven back to his apartment and somehow managed to get Gavin into the building without anyone noticing.

He admits that he’s not a doctor by any means, but he’d tried to bandage Gavin up and keep his wounds and burns as clean as possible. Then, only after he was sure Gavin wouldn’t just keel over and die on his bed, he left to let the man rest while he cleaned himself up. And Gavin certainly did sleep. For eighteen hours straight, apparently. According to Michael, the time they had talked wasn’t actually the first time he’d woken up. There had been times, sporadic in between his long sleeping sessions, where Gavin had managed to regain consciousness. Most of the time, he'd been incoherent and dazed and had passed out again in under a minute, and Michael hadn't really known what to do. It had been just as shocking to Michael as it had been to Gavin when he was aware enough to suddenly start speaking.

“You kept whispering shit in your sleep that made fuck all sense,” Michael tells him. “Shit like faff and gob or whatever. Honestly thought you maybe got brain damage, but here you are, speaking English… mostly.”

“Sod off,” Gavin scowls in response and thinks about the reality of his situation. Three days. Three fucking days. His phone should be all but bursting with missed calls and messages from Geoff or Jack or _someone_. But the apartment is eerie with silence. Despite straining his ears for anything, the only sound Gavin can hear is the soft breathing from Michael at the foot of the bed.

So that begs the question: where the hell is his phone?

“You don’t happen to have my phone, do you?” Gavin asks after a pause, going with the assumption that Michael had most likely taken everything out of his pockets. His _gun_. Only makes sense to think he’d have his phone as well. And his shades too, fuck those things were expensive as hell―

Nope. Not the time.

Michael seems pensive, lips dipping into a frown. “Well, I emptied your pockets and shit after I managed to get your pants off, but I didn’t see a phone on you. Only thing I found in your pockets were keys and a pistol. Left those on the kitchen table and haven’t touched ‘em since.”

Gavin let’s out a nervous chirp, a little too high and a little too bird like to avoid Michael staring at him like he’s lost his marbles. Applesauce spills from the side of the cup because of his frantic fidgeting. He realizes the tough charismatic persona should have been his go-to charade a little too late. Any illusion of mystery Gavin still might have is vanishing the longer his mouth is open.

(Actually, the air of mystery probably disappeared when Michael was removing skinny jeans off his unconscious body. Perfect. Just perfect.

But it's not the point, he's got bigger fish to fry right now dammit―)

“So then where the bloody hell is my phone?” Gavin coughs, trying to get his voice to stop cracking at the thought of Michael becoming personally acquainted with his junk. Yeah, there’s no way he’s going to be able to maintain anything resembling that sweet talking charming act around Michael ever again.

Michael bristles at the question. “How the fuck should I know? Maybe you just lost it.”

“There's no way I could lose it, unless―” Gavin starts, but then it hits him. “Fucking hell.”

“What?”

“Suppose it had fallen out of my pocket when you were pulling me out of the fire,” Gavin says, but he knows there’s no supposing.

Michael’s face twists into a confused frown. “It’s still in the warehouse, is what you’re trying to say? I’m not going to leave you alone here just to go get it. You’re injured, and I definitely do not trust you.”

“That's not the point I'm trying to make,” Gavin snaps, feeling a little miffed. He is so trustworthy, okay? The events of a few nights ago aside. “The thing probably fried in the heat anyway, but Ryan can still track it if some of it survived. “

“Who's Ryan?” Michael asks suspiciously, and oops. Ryan is _definitely_ going to kill him if Geoff doesn't get to him first.

“That is also not the point,” Gavin says quickly. “The _point_ is that if they can trace my last location to you, or your alias, then that does not bode well for you. Or me, if I'm being completely honest, but mostly you. We definitely need to worry about your safety above all else.”

Okay, so it might be Michael that is going to kill him, not Geoff, not Ryan. He looks livid at Gavin's admittance, eyes glowing and jaw clenching so tight that a vein becomes visible on his temple. Gavin swallows, ignoring the ringing in his ears and the heaviness in his chest.

At least he let’s go of the Ryan slip up.

“You know, I was perfectly fine without you shoving your big ass nose where it doesn’t belong,” Michael spits, gripping the edge of the bed frame with white knuckles.”This is all your fault! Call them and fucking fix this.”

See, now that's the funny thing. Jack is going to be so fucking smug if he ever gets out of this mess―

Gavin's shoulders hunch up, and he guilty admits, “I doubt they'd answer to an unfamiliar number, but anyway, it’s a moot point because I don't have their numbers memorized.”

Jack had warned him to memorize at least one of their numbers in case shit hit the fan, but the numbers had always been in his phone, so Gavin had wondered what the point even was. He really regrets not taking her advice now.

Because shit has certainly hit the fan.

There's a silence in the room, and Michael stares at Gavin from over his bright freckles, lips pursed. Gavin's eyes flicker from Michael's face to the scabs on his hands and back again.

“You're going to get me killed,” Michael says after he processes the situation, collapsing on the edge of the bed and running a hand through his hair. “You are literally going to be the reason that I'm going to get my throat slit by a crazy bastard in a skull mask.”

“You aren't going to get killed,” Gavin assures him. “We just have to go to Geoff, explain things. I'm definitely going to end up getting fucked, but you ― I can get you off the hook, I promise.”

Michael looks extremely skeptical at that. “How can you prevent me getting a bullet in my head when you probably can't even manage to get off this bed? Riddle me that.”

Gavin flushes red in embarrassment, knowing Michael is probably right. He doesn't think he can manage to move with ripping some of his scabbed over wounds and hurting himself in the process. Still, Gavin persists, because it's not like they have much of a choice. “I can do it. We need to get out of here.”

He moves to stand, thin blanket coming off his body and revealing the damage Gavin had been doing his best to ignore. Cuts and scrapes litter his bare legs, which are carefully and tightly bandaged as best as Michael could manage. Skin that peaks through the white gauze is raw and red and inflamed, mangled by the licks of fire. They continue up his torso and back, dark purple bruises and deep cuts moving up to where Gavin’s eyes can’t reach. But he _feels_ the pain, that is for sure.

According to Michael, the worst place of impact was on the upper side of his back, where a scaffolding piece of debris had crashed into it, slightly embedding itself into the flesh. The skin was still purple and raw after only two days, the deep bruise blooming on the entire top of his back.

When he moves his legs over the edge of his bed, a stinging sensation bursts in his legs, shooting up towards his back and shoulders in an instant. The wince he lets out is enough for Michael to shake his head and place his hands on an uninjured part of his shoulders, pushing him back gently, despite his anger and frustration.

“There is no way we can get you out of the apartment and to the car without you at the very least passing out,” Michael warns. “ _At the very least_.”

Gavin moves his shoulder out of the way. “No, we need to do this. There's no other way. Do you have clothes I can borrow?”

“Gavin, this is a terrible idea,” Michael says, but he does pull his hand away nonetheless. “Just, reconsider. Seriously.”

Gavin shakes his head. “ _Clothes_ ,” he repeats firmly. “Do you have any clothes I could borrow or not?”

“Sure I do, but there’s no fucking point because we’re not going anywhere, man,” Michael replies firmly. “I doubt you could survive a small shove, let alone a walk through the hallway of the complex.”

“We have to,” Gavin says frantically. “You're on something of a clock here, Ryan will definitely―”

He shoves himself onto his feet, and the pain on his back flares agonizingly. Gavin doubles over immediately, using the nightstand to prop himself up and keep himself from crashing to the ground in a heap of pain. Michael's hands are immediately at his side, holding him up. He helps Gavin slowly slink back down onto the mattress, and Gavin slumps forward, head resting in between his knees, heaving out deep breaths.

“You fucking idiot,” Gavin hears Michael hiss in his ear. “I told you that you can't just waltz out of here like it's all well and good. You got hit by scaffolding, for fuck’s sake.”

“I'll live,” Gavin manages weakly in between a ragged breath.

“Debatable,” Michael says with a sigh, hand falling to his side.

From underneath his mess of hair, Gavin can see Michael falling to his knees in front of him. A hand gently rests at Gavin's elbow, just barely touching his skin. Michael seems… worried. Perhaps it isn't the right word, but it's the closest word Gavin can think of at the moment.

He doesn't try to stand again, and moves slowly until he's clinging onto Michael's arms. Michael seems to understand the silent movement and helps get him back to the edge of the mattress and lowers him back down with a painstaking slowness.

“Fuck,” Gavin says, letting out a ragged breath. Out of the frustration or pain, he doesn't even know. “ _Fuck_!”

A thumb grazes Gavin's shoulders, rubbing gently into that spot. He definitely recognizes the look in Michael's eyes as pity this time around.

“You fucking moron.” Michael's voice is unbelievably soft. Far too soft for the man Gavin knows him to be.

Gavin feels a jumble of emotions settle in his chest, white hot shame and anger, other feelings he can’t really place yet. He turns his head away from the man, looking off to the far end wall, if just to avoid Michael’s burning gaze.

“Are you not going to be smug about it?” he asks. He hates pity above all else, and while Michael may not be feeling sorry for Gavin’s probable death, he does feel pity in seeing Gavin so helpless. He can fucking tell just by looking in the guy’s eyes.

“Don’t have a reason to,” Michael replies. “You’re fucked, dude. And because you’re fucked, that means I’m fucked.”

Gavin snorts, but it lacks any real humor to it. “Guess we’ll burn together then.”

“Always did like fire anyways.”

It’s the beginning of some strange dynamic for the two of them, a new twisted relationship that might define them both. Gavin doesn’t know. He doesn’t care to think about it right now. His stomach gurgles, reminding him that he’s still hungry.

“You got anymore applesauce cups?”

* * *

 **13**.

By the sixth day, Michael and Gavin have something akin to a routine. Most of it is staying out of each other’s hair as much as possible without leaving each other’s company. This isn’t really a choice on Gavin’s part, but Michael still doesn’t trust the Brit alone in the apartment. He tends to keep the door of the room open, never straying very far from Gavin.

In a way, Michael reminds him a bit like Geoff actually, with his ability to keep an eye on Gavin at pretty much all times.  It’s like they both have a Gavin radar.

Gavin tries to climb out of the bed to find a bathroom one day and take a leak, and just as his foot hits the wooden floor and it creaks, Michael is there to yell in his ear and help him back into bed. After Gavin inquires about how he might be using the restroom, Michael leaves the room for a moment and comes back with a plastic bottle in his hands. He chucks it at Gavin and says. “There you go.”

Food starts to come in steady supply as Gavin’s stomach starts to let them know it’s ready for real food. Michael brings him a pizza one day and Gavin is ready to confess his undying love for the man on the spot. After a few slices, of course.

Speaking of, his little crush on Michae l― well, _Mogar ―_ does not diminish in the slightest as the days go on. However, Gavin will say that it doesn’t increase either. Yes, Michael is cute, and his callous nature is definitely hot, but they’re both keeping each other at arm’s length despite the amount of time they spend in each other’s company. Michael isn’t ready to forgive and forget, and Gavin was never one to play with fire anyway.

So they stay in this weird stasis where interaction is minimal, and decidedly not familiar and joking in nature. Michael doesn’t let any tidbits about his personal life slip out, and Gavin keeps things pretty tight-lipped when it comes to his own.

It’s a relationship that sort of works while they wait for Gavin’s back to heal enough to get the hell out of the apartment. Which is evidently a painstakingly slow process. Wounds have scabbed over, but… well, Gavin is only human, after all.

Things change a little soon afterwards. Well. more than a little.

“Got you a salad,” Michael says, shouldering his way into the room. “Sick people need healthy shit, right?”

Gavin blinks, tearing his eyes away from the television Michael had finally let him use after the second day of Gavin complaining of boredom. He watches Michael make his way around to the other side of the bed, two plastic containers full of salad resting in his arms. He places them precariously at the end of the nightstand and shoots Gavin a content toothy grin (that does not take Gavin’s breath away).

“Sure, but I’m not sure the sick you’re thinking of is what applies in this situation,” Gavin responds, reaching out to pluck the top container and set it in his lap. Michael produces a fork Gavin hadn’t seen him bring in, and he takes it with a nod of his head.

“Fuck you, whatever. Just eat it.”

He pops off the tab and stabs the fork into the greenery.

“How’s your back?” Michael asks, and this is how it’s been going these past few days. It’s almost clinical, the way Michael asks him for updates on his condition every few hours. Despite what he claimed about not being a doctor, Gavin certainly feels like he’s in a hospital room right now. The nightstand is covered in pill bottles―painkillers, both over the counter and illegally obtained (being a criminal has its perks). Like clockwork, Michael changes the gauze and cleans the wounds with boiled water and a washcloth, even using alcohol for smaller wounds.

_(“Read that alcohol dries the wounds and makes ‘em take longer to heal,” Michael had told him. “And we’re definitely low on time. I’m gonna go buy saline solution later on. Hopefully I could put it on your back”_

_“That won’t hurt?” Gavin asks nervously._

_Michael shrugs in response. “Who the fuck knows? Pretty sure it’ll burn way less than if I just poured rubbing alcohol on you. I’m willing to take my chances here. Stop squirming.”_

_Gavin does not stop squirming.)_

“Hurts like hell,” Gavin answers honestly, and shoves some of the salad into his mouth. “Better than before though.”

Michael looks him down from head to toe, silently assessing the damage. “The bruises on your face are turning green. That’s good.”

Gavin frowns at being reminded that his face did not come out of the ordeal unscathed. He’d always liked his face, despite what anyone might say about his nose. Michael had handed him a mirror once and Gavin was shocked to see the deep bruise that ran along his jaw, leading up to his cheek. He had a split lip and a gash running along his temple, disappearing into his hairline.

Miraculously enough, his nose had escaped the ordeal without so much as a scratch.

“Calm down, Dr. Jones,” Gavin rolls his eyes.

Michael ignores the jest and rubs his palms against his thighs. “I was thinking,” he starts, and it’s only because Gavin is pretty good when it comes to reading people that he understands Michael is about to say something pretty important. “I want to go check out the warehouse. See if it’s been ransacked by the LSPD or your crew or something.”

“I still can’t get out of this bed,” Gavin points out, gesturing to his legs for emphasis.

“I know,” Michael says. “I was thinking… maybe I could leave you alone for a few hours while I go.”

Part of Gavin rejoices. Michael at least trusts him to be alone in the apartment finally. A larger part of Gavin is suddenly filled with nervous terror. If something happens to Michael, he wouldn’t know for _hours_ , and he has no clue where the hell he could go for help if Michael doesn’t return.

“Uh… I mean, only if we stay in communication the entire time,” Gavin says before he can really think about his words.

Michael blinks at the quick response, brows furrowing and eyes squinting from behind his glasses. Oh, he’s wearing his glasses today. Makes him look a little younger than usual.

“How so?” Michael asks, not seeming opposed to the idea. “You don’t have a phone, and I sure as hell don’t have any extras to give you. Wanna chat online or something?”

It’s a jest, Gavin can tell. Still. “And have my conversation be monitored? No way. You got a laptop or PC?” Gavin asks, already trying to test his limit with the man. Michael let him dip his toe into the water, and now Gavin's ready to jump in head first.

MIchael seems to relent, however, and disappears from the room for a few minutes, returning with a laptop in hand. Gavin asks for his phone, a bluetooth, and a gaming headset if he has one, which are also given to him without complaint―and huh, maybe they have been developing more of a relationship than Gavin had initially assumed. He makes quick work of hooking them up together so that they can communicate back and forth without much of an issue.

He thrusts the phone and bluetooth back at Michael. “Could get a little dodgy when you’re in the desert since the signal out there is absolute bollocks, but we can make this work. If we had direct comms this would be less of an issue, but since we don’t, we just have to work with what we’ve got.”

Michael takes the devices out of his hands and clips the bluetooth into his ear, turning the device on.

“Keep your phone on. I’m using its signal to latch onto the bluetooth,” Gavin tells him through a mouthful of salad. He takes the headset and gently places it over his ears, fixing the mic a little farther from his mouth. Geoff always told him he had a tendency to sound blown out because he’s a very loud and high pitched sounding person. Not that he’s one to talk.

“I’ll be gone for two hours hopefully,” Michael tells him while Gavin is busy fiddling with frequencies. “Three if the traffic is bad.”

“This is Los Santos,” Gavin responds wryly.

“I know.” Michael responds with a small quirk of his lips.

“Okay, fine, three hours. Keep me posted on your location though,” Gavin tells him. “You don’t have the software I use to hack into traffic cams and I’d feel better knowing where you are and where you’re heading in the meanwhile.”

“In the meanwhile? You telling me you’re planning on putting a bunch of shit on my laptop?”

Gavin nods. “Yup. Probably won’t have it set up when you reach the outskirts of the city, but I probably will when you’re on your way back. Say, you wouldn’t happen to have a portable hard drive with a terabyte of storage would you? These downloads can really eat through a laptop’s storage, so saving it through a third party is really the best option.”

MIchael’s eyebrows quirk in response, but he silently gets up and leaves the room again. One hard drive later, Gavin is making quick work of altering the laptop to his whim, and Michael is getting ready to finally leave the apartment for the first time in days.

_(“What have you been doing about work?” Gavin asks on the fourth day. Michael has been a constant in his life for the past four days, and despite the fact that Gavin hadn’t trailed him for long before winding up in this mess, he knows Michael had a nine to five. “You haven’t been going in these past few days. Did you quit?”_

_Michael doesn’t seem to bat an eye about the fact that Gavin knows he has a job._

_“I had a few vacation days stored away for a rainy day,” Michael tells him. “Don’t have to be in for two more weeks, since I have to take care of your dumb ass. Be grateful, asshole.”)_

“Don’t break my shit, Free,” Michael warns him. “And don’t die while I’m gone.”

“Will do,” Gavin chirps. “You should go now. You can be back before sundown if you head out now.”

Michael nods in response, and hovers by the edge of the bed for a second, almost as if he wants to say something. He doesn’t, and after a moment he turns and leaves the room. Gavin flicks on the communication device and plugs in the gaming headset.

“Michael,” Gavin says cautiously. ”You hear me?”

There’s static on the other end, and then Michael’s voice comes through, clear as day. “Yeah, asshole, I hear you. I’m in the fucking living room, I haven’t even left yet.”

Gavin grins. “Just testing the connection. Don’t get your knickers in a twist, _Mogar_.”

“I really hate you sometimes.”

* * *

 **14**.

The only thing coming through is loud wind that blows out the sound, and Gavin _really_ hates Michael. He just had to take a motorcycle, didn’t he? It will be hard enough to manage to keep their connection when he ventures out into the desert, but now Michael expects him to work around this _too?_

Nope. No way. Isn’t happening.

“I really hate you sometimes,” Gavin says loudly to the empty room, but he knows Michael can hear him through the bluetooth because a moment later there’s a sound coming through that Gavin knows is laughter. What a prick.

“Chill out, Free,” comes Michael’s grainy response. “ETA ten minutes.”

“Copy. With the sound of the wind speed, I’m amazed you haven’t arrived at your destination already. Sounds like a goddamn hurricane in my ears,” Gavin grumbles in response. A particularly loud gust grates at his ears. _Prick_.

“You a fan of the Beaufort scale?” Michael’s teasing voice comes through.

“Not at this present moment, no,” Gavin replies snippily. “What street are you on?”

“Conkey. Edge of town,” Michael responds. For someone who claims to work alone, he sure is good at communications. “I’m about to hit the desert, so the connection should get a little wonky. I’ll try to make this last leg as fast as possible, though.”

“Mm-hm. Keep me posted when you can,” Gavin says. “Probably won’t be able to hear you for a few minutes.”

“Got it,” Michael tells him, and then falls silent.

After a few minutes, the sound of wind just stops completely, and a quick check of communications does verify that they got cut off. Gavin shoves down the well of panic and works to get them back up and running all while he has the popular Los Santos streets also up on the screen to monitor.

He’s contemplating getting up and looking for an HDMI cable to try and connect the laptop to the television―tragically incompatible wirelessly from what Gavin can tell―to have a bigger screen to look at. Ultimately, he decides it isn’t a good idea because trying to get up without Michael there to pick him up is basically asking to die.

Michael’s voice comes back slowly and in bits and pieces.

“-hello… You there, Gav?... _H- ello_ … Such an asshole, I swear-”

“I can hear you, you know,” Gavin interrupts whatever monologue Michael was having, and the fuzzy speaking cuts off almost immediately.

“You asshole, I’ve been trying to talk to you for like seven minutes,” Michael snaps, apparently not pleased about losing the little British voice in his ear.

“I told you the connection might cut off.” Gavin replies haughtily.

“You didn’t say it would take you minutes to get the shit back to working order,” Michael responds snipply. “Aren’t you supposed to be a brilliant hacker or something?”

“Well, I’m sorry I can’t hack into radio waves, Michael,” Gavin yells in return. The fucking _nerve―_

“Maybe warn a guy next time.”

“I did! I literally told you the connection would cut off and yet here you are yelling my bloody ear off about not warning you when I explicitly did―” Gavin cuts himself off before he says something stupid. He sucks in a breath and _ow_ , his ribs. “Bickering will get us nowhere. Are you at the warehouse yet?”

“Yeah, just about. I sped up after I got out of the city ‘cause I knew no cops were going to stop me out here,” Michael responds, the heat in his voice also giving way to resignation.”I see the building up ahead. Hold on.”

Gavin listens as the wind slowly stops grating against his ears and then the only thing he hears is the engine of Michael’s motorcycle for a moment before that too cuts out.

“I’m here. Fire’s out, and this place looks real fucking torched.”

“See if you find my phone,” Gavin tells him, only slightly joking. Gets a snort out of Michael though, so he chalks it up to a win.

“Will do.”

Michael keeps contact the entire time, grumbling about all the ash and burnt bits that used to be things that he could have _used_ at some point. He even finds Gavin’s phone near the entrance of the building. Well, he finds the tragic remains of it.

Michael surveys the damage, speaking out loud in a way that almost seems to be to himself. Gavin listens anyway, the constant sound of his voice lulling him into some sort of comfort he hasn’t had for the past few days. Despite having been in each other’s company for so long, Gavin admits this is probably the most he’s heard Michael speak.

(Gavin can silently admit he does like Michael’s voice. It’s a nice voice―)

When Michael takes a moment to complain about getting covered in soot, Gavin tries his damndest not to think about Michael covered in dirt with messy curls and wild eyes. Bad idea. Really bad idea. Gavin really needs to learn how to hone in his hormones and just _stop_.

Ray did always tell him that sex drive of his could eventually get him in trouble. He really needs to stop taking his crew mates’ words with a grain of salt. Their words evidently hold some merit, and they evidently know Gavin better than he knows himself.

True to word, Michael is on his way back before the three hour mark, complaining all the while in Gavin’s ear. The complaints predictably cease for four minutes when the signal cuts out again, but as soon as it’s back, Michael is going full force again, as if he hadn’t even noticed the cut in communications.

When he enters the city and is making his way back, Gavin watches him tear through the Los Santos streets with an easy confidence Gavin knows criminals to have. Even when he shoots past a red light, Gavin doesn’t really bat an eyelash at the action itself. He does warn him about the possibility of getting arrested, however.

“Hey. Fuck you,” is Michael’s only response.

“I’m just saying,” Gavin quips back, lips curling up into a smirk.

Talking with Michael reminds him of the familiarity of Ray mixed with the anger of Geoff and the exasperation of Jack and the undercurrent of just barely restrained violence of Ryan.

It’s… _fun_. Really fun.

* * *

 **15**.

Here’s the shocking thing: Michael actually _liked_ working with Gavin. Staying in contact was mostly to satiate Gavin’s nerves about being left alone, and Michael had done it just to indulge his house guest. But… it was actually kind of fun. _Nice_ , even, to have someone in his ear speaking to him.

It wasn’t even a real job. He was just going back to his warehouse to see what the fuck had become of it, and see what he could salvage from Gavin’s disastrous mistake. Turns out the answer was nothing except for the car he’d parked outside beforehand. But even that hadn’t come out of the whole ordeal unscathed. All the C4 and bombs he’d been working on had been ignited at some point after they’d left the warehouse, and flying debris had hit the roof of the car, denting it pretty heavily.

At least it hadn’t attracted any police from the looks of it.

Gavin in his ear should have been a nuisance, an annoyance. Michael should have been wanting to pull the damn bluetooth out of his ear at every moment. But he didn’t. Everything Gavin said only made Michael laugh or smirk or snort.

Michael blames the motorcycle. Riding them always tends to make him lose his inhibitions and let his guard fall. Seems it fell enough for Gavin to be able to worm his way in.

It makes Michael a little uncomfortable.

He works _alone_ , okay? He’s seen first hand what working with others ends up like. You get too close, too worried about the other person’s safety, and then when shit hits the fan, you both go toppling. He doesn’t know about Gavin, but Michael doesn’t want to topple.

He’s adamantly ignoring the little voice in the back of his head, reminding him Gavin has been in the business for well over a year, Geoff for way longer, and neither of them have gone tumbling down. They have hordes of people at their beck and call, completely loyal, and they’re still standing.

Michael has always promised himself he’d go into things alone, and he’s going to stick by it no matter who comes knocking on his door, or exploding his warehouse.

(It has nothing to do with the fact that Gavin has nice blue-green eyes―)

“That was quite invigorating.” Gavin is smiling at him, headset dangling from his neck. “Seems like it’s been months since I’ve done field work.”

Michael stalks over to the edge of the bed, hunching into himself. “Hate to break it to you, but it wasn’t fieldwork. You weren’t even out in the _‘field_ ,’ and this wasn’t work. You were just too freaked out to be alone for three hours.”

Gavin seems miffed at that, lips pulling into a pout. “You get what I mean.”

Michael rolls his eyes and pulls the remnants of Gavin’s phone out of his back pocket, chucking it at the man. Gavin fumbles with the melted metal and plastic for a moment, looking down at the object with confusion.

“What’s this?”

“Your phone,” Michael supplies. “Or, what’s left of it. Thought you might want it to see if you could get anything out of it.”

Gavin shoots him a wry smile, holding the thing in between this thumb and index finger. “Thing looks absolutely fried, but I’ll try. I doubt I’ll be able to get anything off it, but at least now I know that Geoff doesn’t have any way of tracking me.”

“You make it sound like you’re on the run.”

Gavin blows a raspberry, his shoulders slumping. “Might as well be. Geoff is going to have my ass if I go back with my tail tucked between my legs.”

“Thought you said you and Geoff were close,” Michael says. He doesn’t know exactly how the hell the Fakes conduct their business within the crew, but Gavin seems to know it well enough to realize that all of this (whatever _this_ even is) will not fly.

“Oh, we are,” Gavin assures him. “Which is why I’m definitely going to go through hell for this at some point.”  
  
Gavin frowns at that, but Michael doesn’t get the feeling that he’s particularly frightened by the prospect of being on Geoff Ramsey’s bad side. Apprehensive, and nervous, perhaps, but not shitting his pants frightened like anyone else would be.

Like Michael would be.

Like Michael actually _is_ , because while he’s not the reason Gavin has been taking residence in his spare bedroom for the past few days, he’s not sure if Geoff will see things that way when they finally have to face the music. A part of Michael guiltily hopes that Gavin’s recovery takes longer, because he does not want to be on the end of Geoff Ramsey’s gun.

Gavin seems to be over the conversation though, and is instead fiddling with a piece of plastic hanging off his phone, frowning as it breaks off and falls onto his lap. He spares a small shrug before requesting a set of tools to try and pry some of the plastic off of the circuit board.

Michael complies, because really, what else is he supposed to do?

The first few days had been nothing but Gavin complaining about the nuances of daytime television, and talking with a mouthful of food. Michael had almost been convinced the guy was a complete idiot until today. He had just asked for pieces of technology and worked his way through them like nothing.

It’s only a small glimpse of the storm that he’s so sure Gavin is, but Michael just watches it play out silently. Gavin prys off the plastic and then reshapes some of the metal that had bent with his nimble fingers, using a needle to try and pry a particularly tiny piece back in place.

Yet despite his best efforts, Gavin doesn’t manage to get anything out of the phone. He gives up after realizing an important part of the circuit board got fried by the heat. “It’s absolutely useless at this point. Can’t salvage a single thing from it. I had over a _thousand_ pictures and videos on that thing.”

Michael raises a brow at that. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

“No,” Gavin replies hotly, and yeah, that’s definitely what he’s worried about. _Wow_. “It’s just… they were a lot of pictures.”

“What, hacker genius doesn’t know how to sync his phone to the cloud?” Michael teases, fully expecting Gavin to roll his eyes and respond with a quip of his own. But he just hunches his shoulders up to his ears and blushes bright fucking red.

(Not cute, not cute―)

“Oh my god.”

“Shut up. Michael, shut up,” Gavin whines.”Don’t say it―”

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Michael repeats. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

And promptly bursts out laughing. Gavin squawks in protest, arms flailing and lips pulling into such a small pout that Michael is reminded of a bird. Holy shit, Gavin Free is going to be the death of him. He’s going to die because of Gavin, and yet he can’t stop laughing.

Gavin turns even redder, if that’s possible.

* * *

In the morning, long after Michael washed off whatever remnants of soot were still on his body and shoved his clothes into a basket to have it dry cleaned eventually, he makes his way over to his kitchen.

Gavin hasn’t seemed to figure it out yet, but a great portion of the meals Michael has been forcing into him have been home made. There was the mushroom soup, and the steak that Gavin had assumed he’d ordered from a restaurant, and Michael wasn’t about to correct him on that.

Anyway, cooking is fun. He doesn’t do it often considering he lives alone, and he gets more than enough money to splurge on take out and restaurants literally every single day. His second night with Gavin, when Michael was mostly sure he wouldn’t wake up and left the Brit alone while he went shopping for groceries.

And he’s been cooking ever since.

Michael pulls out eggs and milk from the refrigerator, and gets pancake mix from the cabinet (because he may be a decent cook, dammit, but he’s no chef). He usually doesn’t cook breakfast, seeing as Gavin still tends to sleep through most of the morning, but Michael has heard the Jeopardy! theme song coming from his room for over an hour so…

When the house starts to fill with the sweet scent of a beloved American breakfast food, Michael figures the jig has got to be up by now, right? Who buys pancakes when they’re basically on the bottom of the scale of easy foods to prepare, just above Eggos?

Still, if Gavin has any feelings about eating Michael’s cooking, he doesn’t vocalize them when Michael is bringing him a plate full of pancakes.

“Brooklyn, Manhattan, Queens, Staten Island, and the Bronx.”

“What is New York City!” Gavin yells out just as Alex Trebek reveals the answer to be the five boroughs of New York City, rather than the city itself. Gavin seems scandalized at the answer. “Well how the faffing hell am I supposed to know that there’s a _difference_?”

“Most American’s know about the five boroughs,” Michael says, maple syrup tucked under arm. He places the plate in Gavin’s lap and puts the maple syrup on the nightstand, handing Gavin a fork. “Not my fault you’re an idiot.”

“I’m not an idiot, I’m just not American,” Gavin says haughtily, stabbing at his pancakes.  
  
“And yet you live in America,” Michael points out cheerfully.

Gavin’s scowl deepens. “I don’t exactly have enough hours in the day to spend looking up petty American trivia, Michael. It isn’t surprising that _you_ know about these five boroughs. You are from New Jersey after all, and it is extremely close to New York.”

Michael doesn’t remember ever telling Gavin that, but then, he isn’t surprised that Gavin knows anyway. After all, he knows at least two of Michael’s aliases, where his warehouse was in the first place. Hell, Gavin probably knows his age, social security number, and favorite fucking color, and Michael wouldn’t even be surprised by any of it.

“Yeah well, New Jersey, California. Doesn’t make much of a difference. You should know about the country you’re in,” Michael says.

“Like I said, _British_ ,” Gavin says, plucking the maple syrup off the nightstand and uncapping it. He’s pouring an ungodly amount of syrup onto his plate while Michael watches with unabashed horror.

“There’s no way you’re going to be able to stomach all that,” Michael warns, and anyway, he doesn’t think getting an upset stomach would help with this whole healing thing. “You’ll puke.”

“Watch me,” Gavin says, sticking his huge fucking nose in the air like the stuck up prick that he is. “Just because you’re a pussy, doesn’t mean we all are.”

“Are you insinuating that I can’t fucking chug that entire bottle?” Michael asks, and he probably shouldn’t be rilling Gavin up at all, but there’s something about the guy that brings Michael’s impulsive nature front and center.

“Well if you’re losing your shit over just a little bit of syrup, I highly doubt you’ll be able to down that entire thing,” Gavin points out, shoving a syrup drenched piece of pancake in his mouth. “I’ll bet you a hundred dollars you can’t do it.”

“What? Dude, I’m not about to start a bet with you.”

“Ha! Chicken. I called it,” Gavin laughs, and Michael’s eyes narrow in response.

As it turns out, Gavin is really good at getting Michael to do things. Which could prove to be a problem much larger than an upset stomach. Michael only realizes this after he’s uncapped the bottle and is trying to let the thick syrup slide down his throat in an endless stream without throwing up; Gavin watches with an open mouth, eyes alight with amusement.

Whatever, Michael’s sure it’ll be fine.

* * *

Shocking to no one except Michael, it definitely does not turn out fine.

It’s just a little over a week after that thought that Michael finds himself bound to a metal chair. He’s sitting in a dark room, and Geoff Ramsey is silently staring him down from across a table. And that’s not even the worst part. No, the worst part is that standing right next to Geoff, staring in eerie silence, is a man in a black skull mask.

Yeah, Michael is definitely going to kill Gavin if he ever gets out of this mess.

Well, he would have. He doubts he can do it now.


	4. Chapter 4

**16**.

The eighth day in Michael's apartment brings what Gavin can only call an extremely tentative friendship with Michael. Yeah. He isn't sure what it was that made the guy pull a one-eighty on him, but see the thing is that now Michael is _talking_. It isn't buddy-buddy ― not by a long shot ― but it is something, at least. Right? However, Michael's definition of friendship seems to comprise of him yelling at Gavin til he's red in the face, so bright it's only a few shades lighter than his hair.

In contrast, Gavin defines the parameter of their friendship as him sweet talking his way into Michael's head, managing to convince Michael to do something stupid. Or, at the very least, come extremely close to it. It had started with the maple syrup and just escalated from there. When Michael almost goes as far as to snort pixy stix powder just because Gavin had goaded him, the Brit figures out that this is, like, a _thing_. It's their thing?

And the final facet of their budding friendship has got to be Gavin's favorite. It can be defined by Gavin doing everything in his power to piss Michael off until the man is seething, practically foaming at the mouth. And that is the point in which Gavin decides to toss out a particularly funny jab that has Michael torn between laughing his ass off or just plain strangling Gavin until he stops breathing. So far he's pretty sure the score is five to six, with strangling taking the small lead.

It's a relationship that works. Weirdly enough.

Except that this in itself poses an entirely new problem for Gavin to face, because just as soon as Michael starts to talk, he also starts to _share_. It's never anything substantial, and there's definitely something awkward and slightly off kilter about the entire thing, but still. Michael just comes into his room (or, well, what he's grown to think of as his room during his time with Michael) with beer cans tucked under his arms and sits himself at the edge of the bed. Gavin watches silently as Michael takes one of the cans and snaps the cap off, taking a quick sip before he hands off a closed one to Gavin.

"Want one?" Michael asks nonchalantly. "They're my favorite."

 _Sharing_.

Gavin has no reason to have to know what Michael's favorite beer is, but now he does. Just because Michael felt like telling him.

Gavin silently takes the can from Michael's outstretched hand, and glances down at it curiously. Huh. Ironically, this is Geoff's favorite beer too. Gavin spares a small smirk at the realization before opening the can and taking a sip. He doesn't share this newfound information, but Gavin is constantly finding that Michael and Geoff actually have a lot in common. It's a little scary to meet someone who's basically the spry younger version of Geoff… except hot.

And, well, _that_ in itself is another can of worms that Gavin is still unwilling to open. Because he's always known that crushing on Michael is a very bad idea, and the fact that Michael is such a grouch only further proves that Gavin might be drawn in by particular kind of people: angry assholes. Which, _bad_.

Gavin practically inhales the beer to derail that train of thought.

Michael seems to pay little mind to any inner turmoil Gavin might be experiencing in favor of taking a long swig of his beer. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before turning towards Gavin and asking, apropos of nothing, "You play video games?"

Gavin blinks and taps his fingers idly against the metal can, welcoming the distraction completely. "I do. Not as often as I used to when I lived back in England, perhaps, but I'll still play them with the lads when I have time."

Michael nods, and turns to the side, giving Gavin a nice view of his profile. For someone who’s all harsh edges and rough attitude, his physical appearance is actually rather soft. He had dimples, for fuck’s sake. What kind of pyromaniac criminal has dimples? Not a single one, Gavin thinks.

“I have an Xbox in my living room,” Michael says suddenly, breaking Gavin’s concentration. “And, like, I’ve been thinking. You’ve been watching nothing but Jeopardy and The Price is Right for the past few days, and I figured you’re probably bored out of your fucking mind. So…”

"Michael Jones, are you asking me to play video games with you?" Gavin asks, trying to well the stupid grin on his face away. He’s pretty sure the small hitch in his voice gives him away though, even if Michael isn’t staring at him.

Michael scowls, but Gavin gets the feeling that it’s normal for him. It’s his way of deflecting. “I guess.”

“I’d love to.” Gavin’s chest feels light. “But how will I get there? I still can’t get up.”

Michael looks pensive for a moment, and then seems to come to a decision. Without a word he hands off his beer can to Gavin, who takes is with furrowed brows. What the hell is he doing? He hops off the bed, and Gavin just watches as Michael silently stalks out of the room. “ _Michael_? Where are you going?” There’s no answer, and so there’s nothing to do but sit there with two beer cans in his hand and wait for Michael to get back from wherever it was he had run off to.

A few minutes later there’s loud crashing sound from somewhere in the apartment, followed by Michael’s loud, “ _Fuck_!”

“Are you okay?” Gavin calls out, trying to get up. His back aches, preventing him from moving forwards anymore.

“Don’t worry about it!” comes the breathless response, and Gavin just leans back down in the bed, because what else is he supposed to do?

Michael eventually comes tumbling back into the room with a jumble of wires hanging, almost slipping to the ground. An Xbox is sitting snugly in between his arms, hiding most of his face from Gavin’s view. He hobbles over to the television and lowers the console onto the floor.

“Problem solved.”

Gavin blinks at the heap of wires on the floor, and then his mouth curls into a grin. “What did you have in mind?”

Michael grins back.

* * *

Unsurprisingly enough, Gavin gets his ass beat at literally every single game they play. Michael is good. Not as good as Ray, that’s for sure, but good enough to wipe the floor with him. Gavin clutches onto one of Michael's controllers, frustration boiling under his skin. This isn't fair.

They’d managed to move him to the edge of the bed, and he crossed his legs in front of him, controller resting in the gap between his legs. Michael had managed to find a spot next to him, legs spread out and hanging off the edge.

And Michael just keeps kicking his fucking ass.

“I hate you.”

Michael smirks, and slowly knocks their elbows together. “Don’t be such a sore loser, Gav. Frowning causes wrinkles, and you look like the type to care about that shit.”

Michael is right, but Gavin scoffs anyway. And then he frowns, because this was definitely planned. Michael planned to beat him into the ground virtually because he couldn't do it physically. If only Gavin could figure out how to get him back, how to―Gavin gets an idea. He can’t beat Michael because these are his games, he’s so in his element it’s pointless to even try. Fine. Gavin is flexible. He can roll with the punches. He is beating Michael today, no matter what. Even if he has to tip the scale in his favor.

“Let’s play Peggle,” he says suddenly, dropping the controller on the bed unceremoniously. “Do you have it?”

“I _think_ ,” Michael says, scratching idly at his chin. “But that’s a kid’s game, and anyway, it’s all luck.”

“But Michael,” Gavin whines. It always works on Geoff. Hopefully Geoff and Michael are also the same in that regard. “I want to _play_.”

“Why do you say my name like that?” Michael asks with a scowl and―oh, is that a blush?

No, Gavin thinks, it must just be the light. Michael doesn’t seem like the blushing type, anyway, and Gavin doubts anyone saying your name would cause a person to turn pink (ignoring the fact that when the name Gavin first passed Michael’s lips, he’d gone as red as a tomato because that was a totally different circumstance). it has to be the light.

Gavin tilts his head in confusion. “Like what?”

“You know,” Michael says, gesturing towards the air as if that would prove his point even more. “ _Micool_.”

“I still don’t see what you mean,” Gavin says, looking at Michael as if he’d grown two heads. What the hell was he trying to get at? Gavin was just saying his name.

“Just forget it,” Michael grumbles, looking like he most definitely does not just want to forget it. “Let’s just play Peggle.”

Gavin’s brain snaps back into Whoop Michael’s Ass Mode, and he nods enthusiastically. “I’ve been told that I’m fairly good at this, just a fair warning.”

“How can you be good at something that’s based basically on luck?”

Gavin smiles at that, all innocent and starry-eyed. “I don’t know, we’ll see how this goes.”

He wins, obviously. He's good at Peggle. Scary good at Peggle.

And perhaps it is a petty victory, but Gavin really couldn’t care less about that when Michael throws his controller on the floor and shoots up to his feet. Michael turns on his heel and starts pacing at the foot of the bed, huffing and puffing in anger. Gavin watches with a wry smile. It’s good to win.

When Michael turns to shoot an accusatory finger at Gavin, he finally cracks and bursts out laughing. Michael finds little pleasure in Gavin’s amusement and huffs, “I don’t know how the fuck you did it, but I call bullshit. No one is that good at a game as pointless as fucking Peggle.”

“Now Michael, there’s no need to be such a bitter loser,” Gavin coos. “Best five out of nine?”

“How about you shut the fuck up?”

Gavin laughs.

* * *

The next day, Michael bursts into the room and coerces him into playing PT with all the lights in the room off. He thrusts the controller underneath Gavin’s nose and climbs onto the edge of the bed, tucking his knees up to his chest and sporting a shit eating grin. “You’re playing this and I really don’t give a shit if you don’t want to,” Michael tells him, and that’s that.

Gavin can’t really bring himself to do anything but pick up the controller and start walking through those damned halls. He’s never played PT before, but he knows _of_ it. Ryan, who is very picky about games he likes, tends to gravitate towards horror games. He's played it a few times, and Gavin has caught a few moments of the play throughs before.

(He doesn’t ever flinch when he plays, and that freaks Gavin out more than the jump scares. He's seen the man watch a body fall from the ceiling, and instead of jumping, he immediately burst into high-pitched laughter.)

It's very terrifying and leaves him jumping out of his skin at literally every corner.

However, unlike Gavin, Michael seems to be very well acquainted with the game, and doesn’t burst out into panicked shouting sessions like Gavin does whenever something unexpected pops up on screen. No, instead he snickers at Gavin’s panicked squeals, and Gavin gets it. This is definitely revenge for the complete ass beating he got when they’d played Peggle yesterday.

Okay. Two can play it this game.

Gavin starts hatching a retaliation plan, but something in the game manages to get another yelp of fear out of him. Michael laughs, and Gavin flips him off before continuing to go down the same fucking hallway.

Later, when they play Minecraft together, Gavin does his best to sabotage Michael at every corner. Then they play Slender together, and Gavin screeches in Michael’s ear the entire time (mostly on purpose, but damn that game did get to him sometimes). Gavin tosses the heart on the floor during Surgeon Simulator, and then finally, he not so discreetly shoves Michael to the floor during Mortal Kombat, and Michael finally catches on to the act.

And he retaliates by choosing a bruise on Gavin’s body at random, pinching the skin, and _twisting_.

“Ow, ow, Michael that hurts,” Gavin yelps, trying to wiggle away from the man. His body still aches a lot, so he doesn’t get very far in his endeavor. Michael however, seems to lose interest in causing Gavin pain and releases him.

“You deserve that, asshole,” Michael tells him, and picks up his controller from the bed.

“You are very mean, Michael,” Gavin informs him with a pout.

Michael flips him off.

* * *

 **17**.

By day ten, Gavin is getting terribly antsy. He’s used to sitting for hours at a time sure, but this is a little too much for him. Almost two whole weeks of just sitting and waiting for his body to heal. Michael is doing his best to make the hours go by a little faster (even if it means starting an honest to god friendship with Gavin apparently) but it’s not enough.

And, well, Gavin has always had trouble convincing himself out of doing something when he gets an idea in his head. So the first time Gavin tries to get out of bed by himself, it’s four in the morning and Michael is off doing something ― Gavin doesn't know, hadn't bothered to ask. The pain is dull at first, and slowly starts to grow as he inches his way towards the door. By the time he reaches the threshold of the room, Gavin sinks to the floor from the pain, his only option is to wait for Michael to haul him back into bed. He pulls his knees up to his chest and leans his side against the doorframe, trying to catch his breath.

An hour later, Michael comes down the hallway, eyes growing wide when they land on Gavin's crumpled body. "What the hell happened to you?" he asks, making his way over to Gavin almost immediately. His hands come up to clutch his arms, fingers softly rubbing against the skin there. "Did something happen?"

"Oh, no. Um."

“Did you―” Michael starts and then stops himself. He tries again. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I was bored,” Gavin argues weakly.

"Of fucking course you were." Michael manages to twist his face into a deep scowl before he’s pulling Gavin up to his feet. Gavin figures that’ll be the full extent of their physical interaction, but then Michael is hooking his arms right under Gavin’s ass and pulling him up. Gavin squeals, and in the sudden movement he manages to wrap his legs around Michael’s waist and squeeze.

“W-What are you doing?” Gavin asks breathlessly. “ _Michael_!”

“Shut up, this is easier,” Michael responds, breath tickling Gavin’s ear. “Stop squirming, asshole.”

Nope. Nope. This is unacceptable for Gavin’s poor heart, this should not be happening. Michael stalks back into the bedroom and Gavin’s arms hook around the man’s shoulders loosely, trying to find some sort of purchase during the sudden jarring movement. He does his best not to think about the implications of Michael laying him upon a bed. _Nope_.

“I don’t want to deal with walking your crippled ass all the way back here,” Michael grumbles, and slowly places Gavin in the bed, hand splayed over his back as he presses him into the mattress.

Gavin’s hands slide off his shoulders and back to his side, face leaning away from Michael. It has to be red, he knows it. Michael doesn’t seem to care much, however, and stays firmly planted in Gavin’s personal space. “You know,” he starts, and Gavin can still feel his breath fanning out over his skin. “If you wanted to go out on some adventure in the apartment, you could’ve told me.”

“You’ve been keeping me locked up here like bloody Rapunzel!” Gavin argues.

“Right, because Rapunzel accidentally almost blew herself up and had to get stitched back together by the dude who’s building she was breaking into in the first place,” Michael parrots sarcastically, except he doesn’t seem that angry about it anymore. He’s still annoyed about what happened, and he’s still annoyed with Gavin in general, but there isn’t a white hot anger bubbling underneath the surface anymore.

(Gavin wasn’t sure if there ever really was honestly.)

He huffs and pouts at Michael’s response, because well, Michael is no longer scary and he's comfortable enough with the man to do it. Which that in itself is something that’s still strange to Gavin. He’d spent months thinking Michael to be this out of control firecracker who dealt with everything by using gasoline and a lighter. Which is technically true, but Michael is also the kind of person who will eat an entire maple syrup bottle just because someone told him to. He’s the kind of person to call you out on your bullshit straight up, and teach you what’s what on things he feels you should know. He’s the kind of person who hooks up an Xbox just to play video games with you.

He’s also the kind of person who has no qualms about picking him up and cradling him like a fucking baby apparently.

“Oh, shut it,” Gavin grumbles, reaching out and pushing Michael’s face away.

This is where Gavin’s life has fucking brought him. Shoving _Mogar_ away from him, not because he fears for his life, but because the man is being a mincy little prick. Yeah, this is where Gavin’s life has brought him.

Michael bats his hand away and scoffs before sitting next to Gavin, kicking his legs out in the air. “You wanna talk about whatever the fuck it is that has your panties in a twist?” Michael asks, and this is where Gavin’s life has brought him. Michael is playing therapist. Well, trying to.

Wow.

“What? No, it’s nothing,” Gavin says quickly. “Just felt a little cooped up, is all.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Maybe trying to claw your way out of the room in the middle of the night isn’t the right way to go about things, asshole. Talk to me, you dipshit. I’m not here just to ply you with food and scrub you clean when you smell like shit.”

(Which, yeah, that is also a thing that’s happened. Gavin doesn’t talk about it. Michael doesn’t talk about it. Sometimes the man just comes into the room with a bucket full of soapy water and a washcloth, and Gavin accepts his fate with minimal embarrassment.

Okay, he accepts his fate with a lot of embarrassment. Michael doesn’t seem to care either way, just makes sure he cleans the skin he can get to without Gavin having a reason to press sexual harassment charges on him.)

“That is debatable,” Gavin quips.

Shut up, I’m your fucking friend,” Michael argues, and _huh_. That’s unexpected.

So, this is where Gavin’s life has brought him. Being a friend with _Mogar_ , whom he now feels comfortable enough to just call Michael (actually, calling him Mogar now feels slightly wrong to Gavin, strange as it may seem). Not only that, but Michael realizing that they definitely have some sort of friendship going on and vocalizing it without an issue is another unexpected happenstance.

“Of course you are,” Gavin says sarcastically after he gets over the shock, scrambling to cover up any affection that might’ve cropped up with a well-placed jab.

“I’ve seen your junk. We’re friends,” Michael says, and that is definitely new information, oh no.

Gavin’s face is red in an instant. “ _What_?”

Michael shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly, but Gavin can see the pink starting to bleed into his face. He probably isn’t blushing for the same reason Gavin is (which is because of a mix of embarrassment, arousal, and the weird kick he gets out of knowing Michael has totally seen his dick), but it’s a blush all the same.

“Happened during the first night, after I was getting you out of your clothes,” Michael says. “You have weird balls.”

“Yes, thank you, I’ve been made well aware,” Gavin says, voice higher than normal.

Michael is quiet for a moment, and then seems to come to the conclusion that he wants to move on from the conversation just as much as Gavin. He asks, “Want to play Mortal Kombat?”

His response is instantaneous. “I call Scorpion.”

Michael snorts. “I do not need that sack of shit to beat your ass.”

“We’ll see.”

* * *

 Gavin gets his ass beat. He has fun though, and that’s the important thing. His skin still tingles and thrums with the unrest, looking for an outlet for that never ending energy he had, but dammit, Michael is _fun_.

* * *

 This is where Gavin’s life has brought him.

Michael is explaining the nuances of American television as if Gavin hadn’t been living in the country for a while, and Gavin is just listening. It isn’t out of being stuck in a single space with nowhere to go, but because he actually wants to listen to Michael. In return, Gavin tells him about things he remembers from England. Mr. Blobby, his first job in a grocery shop, and even Dan. Dan is only briefly mentioned, and even though Michael seems like he wants to ask, he sees the look in Gavin’s eyes and decides not to.

Gavin sort of wants to kiss him because of it.

But he doesn’t, because Michael is his friend now, and he can’t go ruining that over some hormonal thoughts. Plus, there’s still the entire issue that got Gavin here in the first place: he wants to recruit Michael. Two weeks of twiddling his thumbs hasn’t changed that. On the contrary, spending so much time with the lad only made Gavin want him even more.

He’s tried to tell himself even before meeting Michael that having a crush on a criminal not in his syndicate wasn’t a good idea, but, well, the heart wants what it wants.

* * *

"Gav, look at this," Michael says, waltzing into the bedroom with his face buried in his phone. There's a smile playing on his lips, and his shoulder quiver with silent laughter. Michael sits at the edge of the bed and juts the phone under Gavin's nose. Gavin blinks down at the phone only to find Michael wanted to show him an old video of Jack that had made its way into the public before Gavin had come on board.

Immediately Gavin finds a smile making its way onto his face. He knows this video. Jack is terribly embarrassed by it, so every few months Geoff has it playing on loop in the main room. It's a video of her trying to scale down a hill next to a building they'd robbed. The only reason the footage even existed was because she hadn't known there was a security camera there, and they hadn't deleted the footage before it found its way onto the television.

The video itself shows Jack carefully making her way down the hill, and then slipping and falling flat on her ass. She sits up suddenly, looking frantically from side to side, wondering if anyone's seen her. Her hand comes up to her ear where Gavin knows her comm is retelling the embarrassing moment to Geoff. His favorite part is seeing her shoulders tense when he knows Geoff blurts out in laughter. With her face covered by a balaclava, so you don't get to see exactly what her face looks like. Gavin was always sad about that. She scrambles up to her feet and bounds back down the hill, and that's the end of the video.

"You know her, right? Jack Pattillo?" Michael asks.

Gavin nods. "I sure do. She _hates_ that video."

Michael hums and pulls his phone away. "What's she like?" he asks, idly tapping at his phone.

"Jack? She's a real sweetheart if you don't get on her bad side," Gavin says, filling with nostalgia. Has it truly only been a few weeks since he's last seen Jack and Geoff and Ray and Ryan? It feels like far longer. He misses them. "But she will definitely kick your ass if you don't respect her. Sometimes I think of her as the leader instead of Geoff, actually."

"Geoff suck?" Michael asks, pocketing his phone. He turns to give Gavin his full attention, leaning against the back frame and stretching out his legs in front of him. His hands come up to rest at his abdomen.

"Oh, no, it's not that," Gavin waves off the question. "Jack just has more of a knack for keeping shit together, you know?" Well, Michael doesn't know, actually. "Geoff does manage to keep us in line, mind you. Jack just knows when it's time to stop messing around."

"So how's your little hierarchy work then?" Michael prompts.

"Well, Geoff, Jack and, er, the Vagabond. I was recruited to be a key player later, and then came our sniper," Gavin starts, counting off the members using his fingers.

"Ray Narvaez?"

"Yeah." Gavin nods. He wants to tell Michael more concrete information, but he's not exactly sure what it is Michael really knows. "We've got a B-team full of lesser known crew members as well. We're like a well-oiled machine, us Fakes."

"With the way you act, that is really dependable," Michael says with a snort.

"I am an outlier. I've always been the rebellious type," Gavin shrugs. "And there's the delicate issue of my impulse control issues. It's what brought me here to begin with, as you know."

"Believe me, I know. So who keeps you in line?"

Gavin cracks a smile. "Ray. And the Vagabond. And Jack. Not Geoff, he's as much of a prick as I am."

"I'm not surprised. How often do you get into trouble?"

Gavin snorts. "Way too much for my own good."

Michael's curiosity about the inner workings of the Fake AH Crew suddenly hits Gavin. He hasn't poked and prodded since the first time, and now Michael is the one coming to him with questions. Oh. Does that mean he's interested in joining? Gavin, out of fear of frightening Michael off like an ally cat, doesn't vocalize his question. Instead he just launches off into another story about his crew.

If Michael's smile is anything to go by, he's definitely interested.

* * *

 **18** .

It’s day sixteen, and so Gavin kind of snaps. Being confined to a single room for days tends to do that to a person.

They have to leave, Gavin realizes. It’s been two weeks. The longer they wait, the more likely Geoff is to kill them. Perhaps not literally―or yeah, probably literally. It’s been two fucking weeks. Gavin has just been fucking around for two weeks, letting Michael coddle him and take care of him and play video games with him.

(Granted, it was a fun time. Minus the constant pain, it almost felt like a prolonged sleep over. Sans late night pillow talk, but whatever.)

But herein lies the problem: Gavin doesn’t do things in baby steps. It’s what led him to this bed in the first place. So the morning that he gets it in his head that _they have to go,_ he’s trying to crawl out of the bed and towards the door before Michael even shows his face.

Which means Michael finds him half sprawled out on the floor, and by the looks of it, he is not a happy camper.

“You fucking asshole,” Michael says after the initial shock wears off. He immediately comes over to Gavin’s side, pulling him until he’s leaning all his weight on the man. “Why the hell are you out of the bed again, dumbass? I thought we got over this from last time. You're gonna get yourself killed.”

“We’re wasting time here,” Gavin spits, and Michael blinks in surprise at the sudden shift in mood from the happy airhead from a few days ago. Being cooped up is definitely getting to Gavin if he’s snapping at people―at _Michael_.

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know,” Michael responds in a snippy tone, making it obvious that he won’t be taking Gavin’s shit lying down. “But, in case you forgot, you’re kind of fucked up here, Gavin.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know,” Gavin parrots, trying to pry Michael’s hands off his arms.

“What’s this about?” Michael asks, not so subtly shoving Gavin back towards the bed.

“Geoff ― the longer we wait, the less accommodating he’ll be―” Gavin breaks off with a wince. “It won’t be pretty, Michael.”

“Michael blinks. “Gavin, you don’t think I know this? I’ve known this from the start. I’m terrified about what Geoff might do to me, but there’s nothing I can do about it because you’re _injured_.”

Gavin’s hand slides from Michael’s forearm to his chest, bunching the cloth into his fist. “All the more reason to go, don’t you think? It’s been two weeks Michael, my body can take it.”

“I doubt that,” Michael grumbles.

“Not like we have much of a choice,” Gavin starts, and suddenly a realization strikes him. “Michael, we’ve got doctors at the base. People who are more qualified to help me. If I get a little banged up on the ride, it’s nothing they can’t fix.”

Michael shakes his head lightly. “Gavin―”

“My body, my choice,” Gavin reminds him.

“I think that is usually applied to sexual situations.” Michael blinks. “Seriously Gavin, I don’t think you could manage to get out of here without at the very least _passing out_.”

“I can do it,” Gavin assures him. Michael’s arms hook around his waist. He repeats, “I can do it.”

Michael shakes his head again, and then presses flush against Gavin until the man is forced to step back with his weak legs. Gavin’s legs hit the edge of the bed, his knees buckle suddenly at the contact, and he’s falling back into the bed.

He glares up at Michael, and when he tries to stand again, Michael’s hands just push him back down.

“Michael, your life is on the line,” Gavin reminds him, more firmly than before.

“I know that Gavin,” Michael snaps. “But if we do this, then your life is on the line.”

“I doubt that this could kill me,” Gavin says, gesturing towards his body. “Michael, we need to leave. Geoff probably thinks I’m dead. He’ll be on a rampage. Michael―”

“ _Gavin_.”

“I can handle this,” Gavin says, looking up at him. He hasn’t had the time to notice―the conversation took up too much of his attention for him to be able―but Michael is standing over him, slotted in between his thighs, leaning down just a bit.

“I can handle this.” His voice is softer, and Michael’s eyes just bore into him. He bites his lip. He can see his resolve crack from underneath Gavin’s stare.

“Fine,” Michael relents, pulling away. “But we’re doing this my way. If you so much at breath wrong I’m taking you to a fucking hospital, and we’ll figure the rest out after I’m sure you’re not going to keel over. Just… don’t move. I’m going to find you something to wear, try not to die while I’m gone.”

Gavin finally tears his eyes away and looks down at the ground, deciding not to deign the man with a response. Instead, he chooses to watch Michael’s feet disappear from his peripheral and out towards the rest of the apartment.

Two weeks, and Gavin still hasn’t managed to see anything except a brief glimpse of the hallway before the pain of walking became too much. Two weeks and he’s been holed up in this bedroom playing video games and watching shitty television shows and talking to Michael.

He vaguely wonders if Michael personalized the place in any way, or of this was just a sort of safe house and was void of any sort of actual personal possessions. If he doesn't pass out, maybe Gavin can actually find out. The room he’s in doesn’t tell much. It’s fairly plain in a way that tells Gavin that Michael had shoved things in here and forgot about them.

When Michael reappears a few minutes later, he has a bundle of clothing in his hands. Gavin can recognize the shoes as the only article of clothing that actually belongs to him among them. He spares a moment to wonder what the hell happened to the rest of his clothes. Michael had said something about taking off his pants before, but Gavin doesn’t know what was done with his clothing.

Makes sense for Michael not to bring them, however, They weren’t exactly loose enough to be considered injury friendly.

“Here,” Michael says, placing the close next to him on the bed. Gavin twists his body and reaches out to grab them, nose wrinkling when his skin moves over his muscles. It was only a few minutes ago that he’d done all that movement, and already his muscles were sore.

Michael notices his discomfort and asks, “Do you need help getting dressed?”

Despite how embarrassing it is to admit, Gavin nods wordlessly. Michael takes any embarrassment in stride however and spends the next awkward minutes dressing Gavin as if he were a fucking infant. The loose fitting t-shirt is pulled over his head and down over his torso, not tight enough to cause discomfort. Michael had found a pair of dark sweatpants that could fit Gavin’s slender hips fairly well, and the Brit makes a very valiant effort when Michael pulls down the basketball shorts he’d put on him before and then pull the waistband of the sweatpants up over his hips, gently brushing against the bruised flesh there.

Michael even has the courtesy to slip socks over Gavin’s feet and slip on the loafers he’d been wearing. Wow, Gavin had missed these shoes.

“This is literally fucking insane,” Michael groans afterward, running a hand through his mess of hair. “You are going to die, and then the Vagabond is going to kill me for letting you die.”

Gavin, slightly distracted by the shoes on his feet and the feeling of extra cloth on his body (he’d been going pretty much shirtless, but the gauze wrap had covered most of his chest anyway), absent mindedly says, “I told you that Ryan isn’t that bad once you get through that murderous exterior.”

He doesn’t notice his slip up. Probably wouldn’t have if Michael hadn’t said anything.

“That's his name? _Ryan_?” Michael asks incredulously, and _oops_. Gavin may or may not have just revealed Ryan's identity. It's a secret that not even all the Fake AH crew members know, and Gavin had just let it slip out so easily. It's the best-kept secret in all of Los Santos and―

And Michael bursts out in a roaring laughter.

“Never would've pegged the fucking Vagabond to have such a normal sounding name,” Michael says after his laughter has died down, wiping the corner of his eye. “That's so fucking lame.”

Gavin stares incredulously with wide eyes. Michael isn't stupid, not by any means, but he really hopes that he has the foresight not to use Ryan's real name or even bring it up at all. But, just in case…

“Don't let him hear you say that,” is all Gavin chooses to respond with, as a warning. “Cautionary tale, but I have seen him dismember people for less.”

“Trying to get me to not be scared shitless of Ryan might work better if you didn't tell me about his murder misadventures,” Michael says lightly, but the blood draining from his face is telltale.

“We should get moving,” Gavin says, and moves to stand. “The sooner we get there, the better for both of us.”

Michael is immediately at his side, grabbing his hand and hooking his arm around Gavin's waist, mindful of the wounds on his body. Gavin is astutely aware of Michael's hand just barely grazing his hip, far more aware than before. Michael is extremely close, so close, way too close―

He stands suddenly, and the pain that flares makes him momentarily forget about his stupid infatuation enough to start moving. They inch their way out of the room that Gavin had called home for the past few weeks, out into the long hallway. Michael is almost completely holding Gavin up, bringing him flush against his body so that the blond has something to lean against.

He doesn’t say anything, but the Michael holding him up makes walking a lot easier than it had when he was going it alone. But he can’t let Michael know just how shitty he still feels, so he keeps that to himself and takes small steps forward.

As they make their way through the spacious apartment, Gavin finds himself glancing at walls and tables, looking at what contents they hold and trying to process it all. He still doesn't understand Michael. It's been months since he began his search and days since he's met him, but Gavin just doesn't understand Michael at all. Perhaps personal trinkets might open a door enough for things to start pouring in.

And they do.

A photo of Michael in between two older men hangs on the wall. On the adjacent wall was a series of posters. Zelda, Pokemon, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. As the hallway gives way to the living room, Gavin sees another Xbox and PS4 on the wooden floor, resting in front of a flat screen. A stand full of neatly organized video games rests next to the television. There's a plain red couch against the wall, a coffee table in between the two, covered in mail and an empty coffee cup and the controllers.

Gavin hadn't asked, but he gets the feeling that he might've spent the last few weeks in Michael's actual apartment. Not some random safe house that Michael happened to have, but perhaps the closest thing to home that Michael actually had. He'd had his suspicions, of course, but this validated them completely.

Gavin has his own flat that he thinks of as actually being his home. He has decor and mementos and knick-knacks scattered all around the place. A poster here, a picture there, all of his favorite clothes in the closet of his bedroom. He gets a maid to tidy the place up once or twice a month, make sure his main living space stays clean.

It's where he invites other crew members to lay on his couch and play video games in between odd jobs. It's where he makes sure to be stocked on Geoff's favorite beer, diet coke, and those eclairs everyone loves so much. There's a hole in the wall from the time Gavin had bet Ryan that he couldn't throw a knife and get it to stick in the wall, and wound up a hundred dollars poorer.

“Nice place,” Gavin comments as he limps through the living room out into the passageway that leads to the door. Walking hasn't gotten easier the more they move, but he persists despite the pain. “Very quaint.”

“I do what I can.” Michael's hand rubs against his side, comforting yet slightly unnerving at the same time. He braces Gavin against the counter of his kitchen and tells him, “Don't move. I'm going to get our stuff.”

“Don't you worry about me, love,” Gavin says, trying to keep his breathing even. Michael may have had a point, but there's no way in hell he's calling it quits now. They _have_ to do this. “Not like I can go anywhere, anyway.”

Michael disappears through a hallway opposite of the one Gavin had gone through, and into a room that can only be assumed to be his. A few moments later he emerges with a bag slung over a shoulder and wearing a dark jacket.

Gavin immediately reaches out for him with a hand, like a child reaching blindly for someone to pick them up. Michael is immediately at his side, and Gavin grips onto him, finding a purchase by grabbing onto his shoulders. Michael's hand snakes back to its original position at his side, pulling him up to his feet.

Terrible idea, worst idea Gavin's ever had―

They walk out of the apartment, Gavin leaning against the wall while Michael locks the door. The hallway they're standing in is wide and long, with velvety red carpets and matching walls. Michael's apartment was all the way in the corner of the hallway, and Gavin spares a glance to the open window and finds then at least a few stories above the ground.

“How the hell did you get me up here?” Gavin gapes.

Michael glances up at the window and then shrugs a shoulder in response. “Just did it, it doesn't matter,” he says, and doesn't bother elaborating. “C’mon, we need to get moving.”

Hobbling over to the elevator isn't fun, but they manage to get into the thing without anyone noticing Michael holding up a brutally injured man. Their luck doubles when they reach the ground floor and find deserted of anyone.

Instead of going through the front door, Michael takes him off to the back of the building and out a metal door that leads out to the complex parking lot. Seeing the thing full of vehicles, Gavin wonders how the hell they didn't manage to get caught trying to sneak out of the apartment building.

“This is convenient,” Gavin comments as they limp in between cars and trucks, weaving through the driveways.

“For you maybe,” Michael grunts in response, and Gavin remembers that Michael hadn't come out of the explosion completely unscathed. Gavin may have taken the brunt of the impact, but he'd seen Michael with bruises and scrapes of his own; that was just on the flesh Gavin had been able to _see_. Who knows what injuries he might be hiding underneath his shirt. Despite that, he's quite literally willingly holding Gavin up without complaint, and.dragging him through corridors, straining his muscles and wounds all the while.

“Which car is yours?” Gavin asks, glancing around the building.

“That one.” Michael juts his head towards a vehicle that is honestly the ugliest most beat up pile of shit that Gavin has ever laid his eyes on. Which is saying something, because he's lived in England, which is pretty much the home of unfortunate looking cars. It's fairly compact, and thirty years old at _least_. The dark color helps it a bit, but it can only do so much. Gavin can see dents and bumps littered all over the car, whether from Michael's reckless driving or past owners, he doesn't know.

“That looks absolutely hideous,” Gavin says. “You drive in that?”

Gavin turns his head just enough to see Michael's profile. His ears are pink.

“No one expects such lucrative criminal to drive a piece of shit car,” Michael grumbles, but it's a weak argument.

“So then what do you spend your money on?” Gavin asks.

“Mostly my houses and apartments. I keep some cars in a privately owned garage. Kept a few in the warehouse,” Michael explains as he gently braces Gavin again the door. He unlocks the passenger side and then gently eases Gavin into the seat, mindful of his injuries. He hisses in pain when he hits the leather and leans back against the seat, having to get used to the pressure on his wounds all over again. He focuses instead on the fact that Gavin technically blew up some of Michael's cars. That must've cost a hefty price.

“Sorry about that,” Gavin grumbles. At Michael's blank face, he continues with, “Your cars, I mean. At the warehouse. I kinda fudged that one up, I'll admit it.”

Michael looks at him with a mostly straight face, but Gavin thinks he can see a twitch of his lips, and he's pretty sure he holding back a smile.

“Don't worry about it,” Michael says, slamming Gavin's door closed and making his way around and slides into the driver's side with ease. If he's injured, he's either very good at hiding it, or it's not bad enough to warrant any sort of reaction. All the while Gavin can barely move without flaring up in unbearable pain from what seems to be every part of his body.

He hates this.

“I hate this.”

Michael raises a brow at his sour remark. “You hate my car?”

“No! Well, actually, yes―” Gavin sputters. “It looks bloody awful, but that's not what I meant. I meant I hate being _useless_. My body is absolutely jacked, and not in a good way.”

“That tends to happen when you're in an explosion,” Michael says dryly, turning on the engine of the car― and man, even that sounds fucking terrible. Sputtering and barely clinging on to life. “Now shut up and save your strength, you've gotta guide me.”

He pulls out of the parking space and drives through the cars with a practiced ease.

And as it turns out, trying to keep your body from pulsing in pain in a car that's moving at sixty miles per hour is not easy. Gavin feels light-headed and queasy, but manages to push down the bile rising in his throat in favor of leading Michael down familiar streets. They're headed out of the city, down into the desert; down to the base. Michael's knuckles are white against the steering wheel.

"It'll be fine," Gavin says, voice wavering a little.

"Still up for debate, Gavin," Michael warns. "I told you you're not allowed to die on me."

"I'm not dying," Gavin says firmly. "I just... I don't feel all myself. Take a left here."

Gavin glances over to Michael in time to see the man roll his eyes. He knows his act isn’t really convincing Michael, but it’s not like they can just go back when they’re so close. He squares his shoulders and stretches his hands outward until they’re splayed against the dashboard. Flashes of white dance behind his eyes, but Gavin blinks and blinks until he can see again.

He can do this. He can do this. He doesn’t have much of a choice.

* * *

There’s bile in Gavin’s throat, but he keeps it at bay while he leads Michael through the last Los Santos road and into the desert. When he can see tumbleweed and endless beige sand, he releases a ragged breath. They’re almost there. That’s good.

“Are we getting close?” Michael asked tensely.

The car drove over a bump and shot Gavin out of his seat for a moment. His back screams in agony, and Gavin bites on his lip hard enough to draw blood. “Almost. Ten miles and then you turn right and go for twenty more miles. That’s where the building should be.”

“Are you okay? You look pale,” Michael says and despite the cloudy pain, Gavin can tell how worried Michael actually is.

“I’ll be fine,” Gavin responds, hands balling into fists on his lap. He stares down at them with intense attention.

Then he notices it. Through the t-shirt Michael has handed him, Gavin can see red peeking through. Oh, he’s bleeding. His hands shake as they press against the warmth, hand coming up to his face to get a better look. The blood is slick against his fingers. Gavin blinks at his hand.

He manages to pull his shirt up to assess the damage, fumbling with the cloth. A gash that cuts through his abdomen had burst open, and blood is dripping from the wound. It’s not that bad, Gavin thinks. It doesn’t even hurt much. He can handle it.

What he perhaps can’t handle, is the sudden warm wet that’s sliding down his back as well, sticking the cloth of his shirt to him. This is much more dangerous. In the two weeks, he hadn’t been able to see just how badly his back had gotten damaged, but the sudden lightheadedness and the dull thrum of pain are sort of telling. Oh―

Gavin looks out into the distance. He can’t see the base, but he knows it's out there. He’s going home, right?

He should probably tell Michael about the bleeding in his back. He should―

“Michael…” Gavin blinks. Stars dance behind his eyes. “Mich―”

There’s a sudden pressure on his hand and Gavin vaguely realizes that Michael has grabbed his hand and is clutching it tightly. The cuts on his hands complain with dull pain, but Michael doesn’t seem to care about that, his fingers just curl around Gavin’s own fist.

"Gavin, you can't just leave me here all by myself," Michael says frantically, and Gavin's eyes flutter at the sound of his voice. "Gavin I need you― _Gavin_!"

It'll be okay. He's finished telling Michael the directions, so he'll be able to get to the base with no problem. It'll be _fine_.

Gavin passes out.

* * *

 **19** .

A hand clutching on to his chin is the first thing that Gavin registers, holding him still while Gavin tries to turn his head away. As soon as his eyes open, he is assaulted by blinding white light, and he squints his eyes in response to it, trying to think, to take in his surroundings and register _something_.

“―hurt yourself, stop moving… Gavi―”

Trevor. Trevor? Oh, it's Trevor!

Trevor is usually a driver for Geoff because he's reckless as fuck behind the wheel, but he's fucking fantastic as well, agile and clinical. However, he is also the only immediate crew member with any sort of medical knowledge, having gone to college to become a paramedic for a while before being recruited. Their on-call doctor must be on the way and they must've just tossed Gavin at Trevor to try and get him some sort of legitimate medical help in the meanwhile.

Obviously, with the state of Gavin's body, which has gone through hell with the initial injuries and burns he'd received, and his back wound reopening during that less than enjoyable joyride. Strangely enough, his body doesn't hurt as much as it definitely should. He feels lethargic, tired as hell, but not in pain. Instead, he feels… light. Almost loopy.

“Hey Treyco, I've missed you, buddy.” Gavin giggles, and yup, definitely loopy. He cracks an eye open to see Trevor's face staring down at him. There's an actual stethoscope hanging around his neck, and that makes Gavin giggle again. “Dr. Collins.”

Trevor sighs in relief, shoulders slumping. “Good thing about being in a gang is that we have easy access to opioids to help with the pain. I've missed you too. Gavin. How are you feeling?”

Gavin's hand comes up to stick out his thumb in a thumbs up, and ends up in his line of vision. Even though the medicinal haze he can see his arm has been bandaged with fresh gauze.

“I feel bloody brilliant, Dr. Collins.” Gavin manages to slur out. “You're a miracle worker.”

“All I did was stitch your back before your spin became exposed,” Trevor says, and Gavin wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Not that that was a legitimate worry. Your cut wasn't that severe, but it wasn't pretty. I'm shocked it didn't get infected.”

Gavin feels a little miffed about that. Michael wasn't a doctor, he'd said as much. But dammit, at least Gavin was still alive and breathing. “M’coo tried his best, okay? Don't be so hard on him.”

“Mi― What? What did you say, Gavin?” Trevor asks, eyebrows raising on his face. There's a weird urgency in his voice that Gavin doesn't pick up.

Instead, Gavin wonders how does Trevor not know about Michael. Michael had driven him here, for fuck’s sake! He must've just misheard Gavin. That was it. Speaking of, however, he wonders where Michael is, what he might be up to since they'd last seen each other. Probably somewhere in a spare room of the base―which is where they probably were, if fuzzy memory serves correct―getting help of his own. Gavin will see him later.

“M’coo,” Gavin repeats, words slurring even more. The medicine coursed through his veins, making everything so so nice and soft and distant. “Trevor, where is he? I wanna see him.”

Trevor blinks, and tears his eyes away.

(Gavin is too out of it to even notice, but guilt burns through Trevor’s gaze in that moment.)

“He's… around,” Trevor assures him. “Dr. Marquis is almost here, Gavin. He's more qualified than me. Just― Just save your strength until then, okay? You seem pretty good for someone who looks like they almost got blown up, but I'd feel much better if you didn't pass out again.

“I almost did,” Gavin nods and turns his head away, letting Trevor poke and prod at the injuries he couldn't even feel anymore.

Michael. He'll see Michael later, after Aaron leaves and Gavin is all better. He can't wait for Geoff to meet him.

Trevor eventually finds some sort of satisfaction in his evaluation of Gavin's body and sits back to wait for Aaron to show up and do his job.

Dr. Aaron Marquis is kind of an oddball. He's dating Barbara, one of Burnie’s subordinates and a good friend of Gavin, and Gavin is seventy percent sure that the only reason he got roped into any of this pesky illegal business was because of that. Barbara had once broken a few bones in her hand after it met a man's face. Multiple times. Aaron was the doctor who was given the unfortunate burden of treating her, and promptly fell head over heels when she waved her bloody hand in his face and _grinned_. Barbara had too been smitten, but she loved a good chase, and Aaron wasn't above running it had seemed. Wasn't long afterward that both Geoff and Burnie's respective crews had a trained doctor at their beck and call, and Barbara had a boyfriend.

When Aaron arrives with his bag, he takes Trevor’s spot, who tells the two he's going to go tell Geoff that Gavin is awake and coherent. He slips out quietly while Aaron is shining a light in his eyes, and pressing cold fingers into his skin. He isn't sure what he's checking, so Gavin slinks away from the frigid touch.

“Why do doctors always have cold skin?” Gavin grumbles, and Aaron snorts but doesn't reply, just grips Gavin's arm, pulling his skin taut.

Gavin isn't a fan of the front of professionalism Aaron is putting up right now, not responding to Gavin's jabs. He's seen the man puke on Barbara’s shoes, they're well beyond that point. Still, he allows the man to check his body without complaint, slowly turning him onto his belly to check Trevor’s stitching along his back. He presses something cold into some of his wounds, and works a needle through torn flesh, fixing things Trevor had missed. Gavin is practically lulled to sleep while Aaron is giving him his examination, sputtering out nonsense the entire time. He brings up Michael a lot, and if it wasn't for the medication, he'd be embarrassed about how he just won't shut up.

His eyes are fluttering shut as Aaron is finishing up, and he's close to sleep, so close, just one more moment―

“ _Gav_?”

Geoff's voice shatters his sleep, and Gavin jerks his head over to the side, still laying flat on his back. Geoff comes bundling into the room, puffing for a breath of air. His suit is disheveled and he looks a right mess, which Gavin giggles at when he sees him out of his peripheral.

“Geoffrey!” Gavin calls out, lifting his head and grinning up at his boss. “I've also missed you. I haven't seen you in forever, I have so much to tell you. Can't wait for you to meet M’coo, too. He's my boy.”

“He's been saying that since he woke up.” Oh, Trevor is back too! That's nice.

Geoff looks worried or confused or constipated. Gavin can't tell. Probably constipated. “You don't think he means―”

“I don't know, he won't tell me more,” Trevor says quickly, and Gavin doesn't like the way they're talking about him as if he wasn't laying right here, practically naked and―

Oh, he's practically naked. Where are Michael's clothes? He was definitely sure that he'd been wearing Michael's clothes when they'd left the apartment.

His sleepiness comes crawling back.

“He said that, ah, _M’coo_ was the one who dressed his wounds up,” Aaron says, and what a traitor. Gavin had totally told him that in confidence. Wasn't there a doctor-patient confidentiality agreement or something? That's what they say in the movies, Gavin remembers. “He said other shit I couldn't make sense of, but I hope it helps.”

“There's no way it's him though,” Geoff says harshly. “He's _lying_ , he has to be lying. Gavin isn't even saying anything that sounds remotely similar to his name, I just―”

“Might not be my place to speak,” Aaron cuts in. “But it sounds like you only have a portion of the truth, whatever it is. I suggest you wait until Gavin is coherent enough to provide the rest of it.”

“It's a little late to play the game of patience,” Geoff growls, and Gavin vaguely wonders what has him feeling all bothered. He burrows into the pillow, his back not feeling constricted for once in the last few days. “I might have been a little… overzealous.”

“We should just wait for Gavin before causing any more damage,” Trevor warns, and Gavin briefly feels confusion at the statement. But this bed is so, so nice. “See what he says.”

“If Gavin and Mogar are actually working together, Gavin is going to fucking kill me for fucking him up,” Geoff says, but Gavin is already asleep and doesn't get to hear it.

* * *

 **20** .

Ow, ow, _ow_. Gavin's body is on fire and it burns―it fucking burns. He curls into himself, and he's so fucking tired of his body just failing him, he's so tired of being human.

“Gavin, Gavin, can you hear me buddy?”

There's a soft hand on his, over his knuckles, soothing and familiar and smaller than his own. Gavin also recognizes the voice, smooth and quiet. It manages to stop his thrashing enough to speak coherently. The pain fizzles out, just enough for Gavin to actually make sense of left and right.

“ _Jack_.” Gavin groans, trying to flop onto his back. “Where am I?”

Jack's hands press against him, keeping him locked into place. Gavin relents and cracks an eye open to look up at the woman. Her round face stares down at him, pulled down in worry. Her under eyes are dark purple, a telltale sign of the lack of sleep she's been getting, and her orange hair was an unruly mess, clipped back so it doesn't fall in her face.

“Base,” Jack responds softly. “We've been taking turns watching over you over the last two days until you woke up.”

Fuck. Not again.

“Two days?” Gavin asks frantically, and he's pushing himself up again. Two fucking days, he's been out of it for a while―

Where's Michael? Michael has been unaccounted for in the last two days. Has he explained everything? Is he okay? Has he taken a turn watching Gavin like the rest of them? Where is he―

“I want to see Michael,” Gavin says, throwing caution to the wind. “Where is he?”

Jack squints and purses her lips. “Gav… we don't know a Michael,” she says, and oh no. This is not good, it's not good. “You've been talking about this Michael since you got here, but none of us have any idea who you're talking about.”

Gavin doesn't fucking care anymore about Jack pushing him back down or the stitches on his back. He needs to find Michael. Batting away Jack's hands with wild flailing, Gavin pushes himself onto hands and knees, ignoring the pain flaring all over. It's a duller pain than the one he'd had when Michael tried helping him to the bathroom, probably because of the passage of time and the pain medication that had been given to him, but it isn't comfortable by any stretch of the imagination.

“Fuck, Gavin _stop_ you're going to hurt yourself,” Jack says frantically, but Gavin doesn't care. He slides off the bed and takes a few wobbly steps towards the door. Jack is at his side almost immediately, trying to shove him back towards the bed without hurting him.

Gavin is having none of it.

“Jack, let go of me,” Gavin growls, grabbing Jack's hands and shoving as hard as he can. Which isn't that hard at all, but he does it with enough force that Jack does back up a few steps, probably trying to prevent Gavin from doing anymore damage to his already wrecked body. “I need to see Michael.”

“Gavin, please―” Jack starts, and Gavin immediately turns to her with a snarl.

“Mogar! Where the fuck is he?”

Jack blinks her eyes at him, too many emotions to count flitting across her features at the well-known name. Her jaw clenches a moment later, and Jack, the caring young woman fades into the cold person Gavin knows she can become. Jack's gaze becomes clinical… calculating, watching every move Gavin makes. She opens her mouth to speak, and the words come out in the tone he recognizes as the one she uses for work.

“He's alive,” Jack says. “Safe. He hasn't done much talking, and we've taken everything he _has_ said so far with a grain of salt because we have no fucking clue who he is.”

Gavin opens his mouth to speak, to say _something_ , but Jack stops him before he can speak. Fuck, it's not like he knew what the hell was about to come out of his mouth anyway.

“You don't get to say _anything_ right now, Gavin,” she snaps, arms crossing over his chest. “You were gone for two fucking weeks! We thought you were _dead_ , we had no way of knowing you were even alive out there. We could've been looking for a body, for all we knew. Then some guy with a car trunk full of explosives and _you_ half dead in the passenger seat just shows up at our base, and you expect us to just let him through the front door without a problem.”

Gavin can only cling to the wall desperately.

“Not only that, but don't think we hadn't noticed how fucked up you've been these past few months,” Jack's voice cracks, and fuck Gavin hates himself so much. “You were so distant and you were always tired and you wouldn't talk about it to anyone. Just when things were getting back to normal, you up and vanished and then we couldn't find you. Ray finally fucking told us―”

“What did he tell you?”

Jack frowns at being interrupted, but answers the question. “That you fucking got it in your head that you had to find Mogar for some reason. That you were borderline obsessed―and then Ryan found a few files in the computers, a building under the name Maxwell David or some shit, and we go to find the place fucking torched.”

“This is all my fault.” Gavin stares down at his feet. “Is… Can I see Michael? Fuck, he probably hates me; he told me this would happen but I _promised_ ―”

“What did you do?”

Gavin had once asked Ray how much damage a single person could do. The answer is, apparently, quite a bit. Gavin definitely fucked up.

“I need to talk to Geoff.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hard to believe that last October this was a little one shot I almost abandoned at 12K. How it became this 50K monster, I'll never know. Well, this is technically the last chapter of Michael and Gavin's story, since the epilogue is going to focus heavily on my boy Jeremy.
> 
> It's been a blast, folks.

**21**.

As Gavin is shuffling into the room, Jack’s hands keeping him upright, he feels a deep heaviness settle in his chest. Geoff watches silently from behind his desk, eyes dark and angry and all seeing. Even if Gavin had wanted to show defiance in the face of this man, he could only muster enough strength to keep his legs moving and his eyes trained on the floor. The air in the room is so thick it’s almost suffocating, and every fiber of Gavin’s being just wants to run. But he knows that he can’t. It just isn’t a possibility. He has to see this through, he has to have this conversation no matter how much it frightens him.

He has to. For Michael.

Jack slowly lowers Gavin into the seat opposite Geoff and spares a touch to his shoulder in a silent act of solidarity. When her hand slips away from him, Gavin feels cold and alone, practically crushed underneath Geoff’s watchful gaze. He hunches up into himself, listening to Jack’s retreating footsteps all the while. The door slams shut, racking Gavin’s soul and the room, and suddenly he’s alone with the man who has the power to end him with just a snap of his fingers. At least there’s no gun on the desk to make him feel even more frightened.

He takes a deep breath

“Geoff―” Gavin starts, only to be immediately stopped by a raised tattoo-covered hand. Gavin’s mouth shuts with an audible clack of teeth meeting teeth.

The room is silent once more, until Geoff decides he’s ready to talk to Gavin.

“So,” Geoff drawls out slowly, voice filling the room. “This is what I’ve been able to surmise based off of other people’s accounts: two weeks ago, you thought it was a good idea to go out―without my permission, mind you―and try to recruit an extremely dangerous man into my crew. Am I getting this right so far?”

It’s not completely accurate, Gavin thinks to himself. This has been going on for far longer than two weeks, but Gavin just nods mutely, not knowing what else he could do to turn things in his favor.

Geoff hums concomitantly, giving little away about how he’s feeling. “Alright. So then you just up and vanish without a word, and then two weeks later you show up not only on the brink of death, but with said criminal you’d tried to recruit in the first place driving the vehicle. Am I still getting this right? Just want to be completely sure.”

Again, Gavin nods his head silently.

“Great,” Geoff says, clapping his hands together. The sound echoes in the room. “So, now that I finally have you here and lucid, I do have a few questions for you. Firstly, how’d you get so fucked up? How’d you convince Mogar to bring you back here? Why’d it take you two weeks for you to pop back up on the radar?” The questions come in rapid succession, and Gavin can’t process them all fast enough. So doesn’t say anything for a moment, and that apparently does not please Geoff at all. “This is the part where you start talking, Gavin. Now.”

“This,” Gavin blurts, gesturing at his body for emphasis, “was all my fault. It’s the reason I took so long in getting back to you, which I promise wasn’t my intention at all. I… well, I broke into Michael’s compound, and it―well, according to Jack, you already saw how that ended up.”

“Are you saying you caused the explosion?” Geoff prompts, eyebrows raising.

“No,” Gavin says immediately, and then reconsiders. If he’s being honest, he did. Sort of. “Well, yes. More accurately, I accidentally activated the explosion. It was Michael’s failsafe if anyone ever found out where he was conducting his business, and I found out.”

Geoff seems to accept the answer, and then finds another question within it. Almost nonchalantly, Geoff comments, “Couldn’t help but notice Mogar wasn’t carrying any evidence of an explosion on his body.”

“Well, that’s because he’s not. From what I can remember about that night, he was closer to the door than I was, and I rammed into him during the explosion. I guess I sort of shielded him with my own body by accident,” Gavin explains slowly. It was something he hadn’t even realized until he said it out loud. Michael had never said anything, but when Gavin thinks really hard about that night, he does remember being pressed against Michael. Huh.

Geoff is watching him wordlessly, seemingly unaffected by what Gavin is saying. He looks like he’s waiting for Gavin to keep going, so the boy continues. “Uh, he took me to his apartment afterward. Managed to patch me up as best he could, and then I just became his houseguest for the next two weeks while I healed.”

“That only answers one of my questions,” Geoff says after Gavin finishes his explanation. “So, I’ll ask again. Why did it take you so long to come back here? Why didn’t you reach out to us and contact us?”

Gavin averts his eyes immediately, cheeks turning red. Shit, he’d really been hoping to avoid this. No point in trying to avoid this now. “Well, do you remember that time Jack warned me that I should probably memorize at least one of your numbers in the event that I ever dropped my phone?”

Geoff seems to get it in an instant. “Gavin, you fucking idiot.”

Gavin slouches down in his seat, cheeks hot from embarrassment. ‘“I _know_.”

“That doesn’t explain why we couldn’t track your phone,” Geoff continues after he gets over Gavin’s little slip-up. “We’ve got all our phones bugged with tracking devices. You should know this, you’re the one who fucking did it.”

“There is a perfectly reasonable explanation for that, I promise. I dropped my phone inside the warehouse that night and it got absolutely torched in the flames. Wasn’t a bit of it that survived,” Gavin explains, lips pursing. “Even after Michael got my phone back, it was completely unsalvageable.”

Gavin bites his lip after Geoff falls silent once more, processing the information being told to him. The silence becomes more deafening the longer it lasts. He can’t take the suspense anymore. Gavin _has_ to know. “Look, Geoff. About Michael…”

Geoff’s eyes narrow immediately, and his voice is as sharp as a knife. “What about _Michael_?”

Gavin winces at the cold glare, but he knows he can’t back down now. If he decides not to ask and tries to backtrack, Geoff will force it out of him anyway. It’s just the kind of person Geoff is, and Gavin knows he’s in no position to refuse him anyway. Throwing caution to the wind, Gavin asks, “Can I see him?”

The question isn’t one Geoff was expecting, it seems, before for a brief second the surprise he feels is evidently written all over his face before it’s quickly masked.

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, Gavin,” Geoff says after a moment, reaching into a drawer on his desk and pulling out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. “You’re gonna need booze for this conversation to happen, and if I’m being honest here, so am I.”

Gavin silently watches as Geoff pours a decent amount of liquor into the glasses. He downs most of his in one go, and then slides the other one over to Gavin’s side of the desk. He nurses the rest of his drink in his own hand, idly swirling the liquid and staring at Gavin from over the brim of the glass.

It isn’t often that Gavin is reminded that this is a crime boss he is actually sitting in front of. Geoff has fought and killed to get where he is now, and he’s hardened over the years. It’s easy to forget when Geoff is manhandling Gavin and sitting on him just to fart on him, and it’s hard to remember when Geoff ruffles his hair and calls him a good kid. Right now though, it’s extremely easy to remember. The man sitting in front of Gavin isn’t the one he’s gotten to know over time. No, the man who is sitting in front of Gavin is hard and cold and calculating.

Gavin, without anything to do, takes the offered glass and gently holds it in his lap.

“Your boy hasn’t done a lot of talking since we brought him in, only asked about you for the first few hours,” Geoff says, and Gavin feels his chest constrict at the words. At least Geoff is willing to talk about it. It’s something. “Kept his mouth shut pretty much the rest of the time. Even after I let Ryan take over things. Not sure if that was a smart move on the kid’s part. You know how Ryan can get sometimes if things don’t go his way right away.”

Gavin’s chest feels even tighter. “What did Ryan do to him?”

With a purse of his lips, Geoff dips his head down slightly and answers Gavin’s question. “Look, I told him to go easy. You know how wrapped up in this shit Ryan can get if I don’t lay down some ground rules for him to follow. We didn’t let it get too bad, no broken bones of anything.

“But Gavin, I do have to warn you, if I let you see the kid―and that is a big fat fucking if―it’s not going to be pretty. Ryan really did a number on his face. Your boy’s a resilient one though, I’ll give him that. Took it like a fucking champ.”

“When will I be able to see him again?” Gavin asks hesitantly, and then continues, “ _Will_ I be able to see him again?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Geoff repeats, leaning back into his seat, “But, I will tell you this: you’ve become like a cross between a little bother and a snot-nosed kid to me. And I want to trust you here, I really do. But you’re really trying my patience here will all the shit you’ve pulled.”

An apology is already on the tip of Gavin’s tongue, but Geoff stops him before he’s able to get the words out. “As a show of good faith, because I still care about your dumbass, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt here. So, even though I’m pretty sure it’ll make this colossal mess even more of a clusterfuck, I’m going to let you see the pyro. But you really fucked me over here, Free. You straight up bent me over the table and butt fucked me, so don’t think this is all water under the bridge. You’re going to have to work really fucking hard for me to have even a fraction of the trust in you that I used to have.”

Gavin’s heart pounds against his ribcage, and his fingers curl tightly around the glass in his hand. There’s a ringing in his hears, and he can hardly believe what he’s hearing coming out of Geoff’s mouth right now. “Geoff, I―”

Geoff holds his hand up once more, signalling for quiet, and Gavin’s mouth snaps closed in obedience. “First things first. You are going to start by telling me about your little two week misadventure. I want every single detail you can think of. We’ll go from there.”

Understandable. Gavin nods his head in agreement, and is ready to start spinning his tail of the last two weeks of his life, when he realizes that two weeks ago isn’t actually where the story began. No, if Geoff wants the truth, then Gavin has to give him the whole truth. So, Gavin opens his mouth and the words start pouring out of him like an endless stream of water.

“A few months ago, I overheard you and Jack talking about Mogar. It was only in passing, and I was really more of an eavesdropper than a participant of that conversation; and, well, you know me Geoff. Once I get something in my head, it’ll stay there until I figure it out,” Gavin explains, offering only a small shrug after he finishes.

Geoff raises a brow in response. “Don’t I fucking know it. Keep going.”

Gavin’s mouth falls open, and the entire truth just comes pouring out of him. It’s like a dam had burst, and he finds that he doesn’t keep a single thing from Geoff, because the man deserves nothing but the complete truth. He tells Geoff about the search for Mogar, and how obsessed he became with it. He tells him about Ray sort of finding out what he was doing, and Gavin hopes he doesn’t get the sniper in trouble by doing so. He even tells Geoff about finding out who Mogar was, about trying his best to move on from the entire thing only to get sucked back in.

To give Geoff credit where credit is due, he just sits there and listens to the entire thing in silence. Even when Gavin tells him about sneaking out to the warehouse to confront Michael―with is something completely idiotic to do without back-up―he doesn’t say a single word. Actually, it isn’t until Gavin is deep into talking about his stay in Michael’s apartment that Geoff finally cuts him off from his endless rambling.

“So,” Geoff starts, and Gavin immediately shuts his mouth and sits up straighter. “Let me get this straight: you kept this entire thing a secret for months, and you basically blew yourself up… because you have a crush.”

Gavin’s face is pink in an instant. “I… well, when you put it that way―”

“Gavin David Free,” Geoff says loudly, voice echoing through the walls. His lips twitch, and Gavin isn’t sure if it’s because he wants to grin or scowl, but he seems to be refraining from doing either at the moment. “You did all of this shit― _all of it_ ―because you can’t keep your dick in your pants?”

“Hey! My dick stayed firmly where it belonged, I’ll have you know,” Gavin argues hotly. “It wasn’t my fault if my pants happened to be removed while I was unconscious.”

Geoff’s eyes widen for an instant, and then immediately droop. He let’s out a sigh of resignation. “I don’t even want to fucking know. Alright, fine. Come on, I’ve left both of your dumbasses waiting long enough. Let’s get this stupid fucking show on the road.”

He places the glass down and pushes himself away from the desk. When he gets up to his feet, Gavin watches as he makes his way around the desk and walk towards the door. When he pulls the door open, Gavin sees Jack waiting there patiently, hands clasped behind her back.

“What do you mean? Are you―” Gavin starts, quickly putting the untouched drink on the table. “Wait. Are―Are you actually going to let me see him?”

Geoff rolls his eyes. “I just said that, dumbass. Jack, help the idiot up to his feet before I make Lindsay get that wheelchair Marquis brought over with him.”

“Nope. No wheelchair required.” Gripping tightly to the edge of his seat, Gavin slowly gets up to his feet. The medication that Trevor and Aaron managed to pump him with have been doing a world of wonders, and he’s able to ignore any resistance his body gives him.

Jack is still at his since in an instant, arm slinking around his waist. For the moment, Gavin allows her to lead him out of the room. It’s a little embarrassing to be hobbling around like this, but he can’t help it of his body is fighting against his every move, even if he can’t feel it. Geoff is patiently waiting just outside the door for them, and Gavin spares some of his attention to look up at the man, however most of it is still completely focused on trying to walk semi-decently.

“Thank you,” Gavin breathes.

“C’mon, let’s you pay your little idiot a visit.”

* * *

 **22**.

In a corner of the base, Geoff had an interrogation room built just in case they happened to get their hands on an enemy or a snitching rat. It had a one-way mirror and a table and chairs that were bolted to the floor. When he’d first joined the crew. Gavin had honestly thought that they used the interrogation room far more often than they actually did. If Ryan was involved, usually the person never quite made it to the room. But more often than not, Geoff conducted his business outside of the base, especially if it regarded people they didn’t trust.

So, they never quite got used the interrogation room as often as Gavin might have assumed. But now he’s limping down the narrow hallway going right towards it, because behind those doors is Michael. It’s where Michael has been for the past two days.

Geoff comes to a stop in front of the door and swivels on his heel, turning to look at Gavin with a deathly serious expression dancing on his face. “Look,” he starts, and Gavin knows whatever he says next won’t be good. “I wasn’t kidding when I said that he doesn’t look pretty. You need to prepare yourself not to freak the fuck out immediately. Jack and I are going to be just in the other room watching from the glass, so don’t try to pull any stupid shit.”

Gavin nods mutely and watches Geoff open the door. He murmurs something too low for Gavin to hear, and a second later Lindsay and Ryan are coming out of the room. Ryan is surprisingly bare-faced, and Lindsay is rolling her shoulders as she makes her way out of the room.

For a moment, it feels like just another day in the base.

The normalcy breaks the moment Lindsay catches sight of him, eyes going wide. For a brief moment, the shock is very evidently written out across her face. It vanishes just as fast though, and suddenly her face breaks into a small smile. She makes her way over to him, carefully wrapping her arms around him in a hug. “Good to see you’re up and that Geoff hasn’t killed you. You really had us fucked up, Free. I hope you know that.”

“I do,” Gavin admits with a muffled voice, burying his face in Lindsay’s shoulder. It’s good to see her. Eventually Gavin pulls away and stares into her smiling face. Her eyes are dazzling.

“Your boy is inside,” Ryan says tersely, and Gavin’s eyes flicker over to his face. He doesn’t look pissed off at Gavin, but he’s not all smiles and warm greetings like Lindsay had been. But at least he’s speaking to Gavin, so that’s something. “Geoff wouldn’t let me mess him up. Not that I would have. I figured out pretty quickly what he meant to you, and I’m not completely heartless.”

Gavin blinks, and tried to will his blush to go down. Stupid Ryan and his stupid perceptive abilities. “Oh, uh, thank you.”

Ryan inclines his head in a nod, and Gavin doesn’t miss the small smile that plays on the edge of his lips. “It’s good to have you back Gav.”

“It’s good to be back, Ryan,” Gavin responds, flooding with warmth and relief.

“Come on, let’s get you inside,” Jack says, and Ryan and Lindsay move out of the way and start walking down the hallway. Gavin watches them go into the neighboring room to watch Michael from there.

Gavin turns away and slowly takes a step closer, not quite venturing inside the dim room, and his blood runs cold as soon as he catches sight of Michael. Michael is slumped in one of the seats, hands bound behind his back with cuffs. His head is lolling back, exposing the dried blood that had been running down his neck and jaw at some point. Gavin clenches his teeth, staring at Michael’s bloody clothes.

“Hey, kid,” Geoff calls out to Michael casually, stepping in front of Gavin.

Michael slowly turns his head to glance at the entrance, and Gavin finally get’s a clear look at him from over Geoff’s shoulder. Despite the fact that he’s got two puffy black eyes that are so inflamed that Gavin can’t tell if his eyes are even open or not, despite the fact that there’s a gash running along his temple spilling blood into the side of his face, and despite the series of purple-black bruises that start trailing down the side of his face to his chest, Michael’s split lip curls into a cocky grin as soon as he catches sight of Geoff.

“Still not done, Ramsey?” comes Michael’s slurred voice, and Gavin's chest constricts tightly when he hears it. “Really?”

“No, I’m not done,” Geoff drawls out. “Got you a visitor.”

“Ryan and his lady friend were just in here a minute ago,” Michael says, sounding completely unperturbed. “Don’t know what can be worse than those two.”

Gavin freezes. Did Michael really just―

He did. Surprisingly enough, Geoff doesn’t look all that nonplussed to hear the name coming out of Michael’s mouth, which mean Gavin’s little flub isn’t a secret to any of them. Geoff doesn’t even bother to spare Gavin a glance, which means this can’t have been the first time Michael has called Ryan by name. What a fucking idiot, Gavin had warned him―

“It’s actually your lucky day. This is a good visitor,” Geoff explains, and finally moves out of the way. “He won’t hurt you. I doubt that he can, with how fucked up he is.”

What the fuck are you talking about―” Michael starts, voice sharp. He lifts his head, and Gavin finds himself trying to rip away from Jack’s hold as he’s being let into the room. Whatever Michael was going to say, the words die on his tongue as soon as he catches sight of Gavin struggling. “ _Gavin_.”

“ _Michael_.” He sounds pathetic even to his own ears.

Michael is immediately sitting up, tugging violently at the cuffs, eyes never straying from Gavin. Gavin finally pulls away from Jack completely and half-runs-half-limps his way to Michael’s side, collapsing onto his knees when he reaches him, His hand comes up to Michael’s cheek, careful to avoid pressing into the bruises too hard.

“You’re okay, holy shit, you’re actually okay,” Michael stutters, pressing hard against the palm of Gavin’s hand despite the deep bruises. His warm eyes are as wide as his swollen skin would allow, staring up at Gavin like he can’t believe he’s actually there in the flesh. “They didn’t tell me anything about how you were doing. I didn’t know you were okay. Gavin, I―”

“You called Ryan by his name,” Gavin blurts, a little surprised that that’s the first thing out of his mouth. “I thought I told you not to do that.”

“Yeah, well you also looked pretty fucking dead in the passenger’s seat of the car before they dragged you out and we got separated,” Michael argues weakly, managing small shrug of his shoulder. “So please excuse me if I wasn’t completely in the right state of mind and said whatever came to mind. Not dead though, so that’s gotta count for something, right?”

“Yeah, well I think that’s just because Geoff likes you a little,” Gavin says after a moment, and Michael lets out a small laugh at that.

“Yeah? Well if he does, he sure has a funny way of showing it,” Michael grumbles in response, and then falls silent for a moment. Then, “Where have you been, Gavin? It’s been, fuck, I don’t know, like two days or something? I didn’t know if you were even alive. I was half convinced the redhead was going to let Ryan murder me for letting you die.”

“It’s been a hectic few days,” Gavin tells him, rubbing Michael’s cheek with his thumb. He’s starkly aware of the fact that Geoff and Jack are still standing at the entrance of the room, and that Ryan and Lindsay are just in the neighboring room, watching the entire interaction. Gavin turns to fix Geoff with a look, silently telling him to give them the room. Geoff seems to understand and complies with a nod of his head, turning and leaving, clothing to door behind him. Gavin turns to look at Michael with a tight smile. “Lindsay is a sweetheart once you get to know her.”

“She punched me in the face.”

“I said once you get to know her,” Gavin clarifies with a small smile, and then runs his fingers against the side of Michael’s face, just barely grazing his skin out of fear of hurting him. Looking at the wounds, Gavin’s lips dip down sadly. “Look at you. You’re a bloody mess. I was supposed to prevent this from happening.”

“I’m going gonna lie,” Michael says, fidgeting against the cuffs. “I sort of saw this coming. I still brought us here even though I knew they weren’t going to listen to a damn word that came out of my mouth. But, at least I’m not dead. For now.”

“I won’t let you die, Michael,” Gavin assures him immediately. “I won’t let them touch you anymore. I―well, I just woke up, you see. I was out the past two days, and I didn’t get a chance to tell them how much you actually helped me.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Michael asks, tossing his head back, resting against the edge of the chair with a soft thunk. “You’re such a fucking damsel, Gav.”

Gavin kind of wants to kiss Michael right now. But his lip is bloody and his face is swollen and Gavin’s head still feels a little off, so he doesn’t do it. Gavin keeps his mouth to himself, and opts to simply hold Michael’s face in his hands.

“I resent that,” Gavin quips. “I’m here rescuing you, aren’t I?”

“I don't know if this counts.”

“Well, I say it does,” Gavin replies lightly. “How’s your head feeling?”

“Like someone took a fucking hammer and went to town on it,” Michael responds with a groan, head lolling from side to side again. Gavin’s fingers slide from his cheek down to the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “Everything hurts, man. I feel like absolute shit.”

“Well, you look it, too,” Gavin says, eyes trailing around the marred flesh.

“Yeah, I bet I do,” Michael grumbles, trying to move against the cuffs again. He gives up and sags into the seat. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m glad _you’re_ okay,” Gavin parrots, hand ruffling Michael’s hair absent-mindedly. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of here as soon as I can.”

Gavin smiles tightly when Michael nods his head mutely, and silently promises to himself that he really will get Michael out of this, even if he has to uncuff the man and sneak him out of the base himself. Which he won’t have to, because he’s going to be having some words with Geoff right now.

Even if it had to come to blows, Gavin will be getting Michael out of there.

* * *

A part of Gavin―a very big part―wants to stay in that room with Michael forever, but eventually Geoff comes into the room and almost has to physically pull Gavin away from Michael. They get him out of the room and leaning against the opposite wall.

Geoff simply stares at Gavin with silent, knowing eyes.

“Geoff, you’ve got to let him go,” Gavin begs, sagging against the wall. His fingers try to curl against the wall.

Geoff is silent. Then, “Okay.”

And Gavin’s heart soars. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Geoff concedes, head dipping in a nod. “I saw your little star-crossed lovers act in there, and look: I’m not happy with what happened. Almost lost my hacker and friend to his own stupidity. And, even though it was mostly your fault, a small part of me does blame the kid for what happened. He did technically blow you up. But, as much as it pains me to admit it, he did also help you after everything went down. He brought you back to us. Eventually.”

Gavin’s face breaks out in a smile, and he doesn’t even care that Geoff obviously knows how much Michael means to him. He already said he knew about the crush back during their talk in the office, but for Geoff to witness the depths of Gavin’s affection it something else. “Thank you, Geoff.”

“So this is what’s going to happen: I’m letting the kid out and giving him a room. I don’t want his leaving the base, so I’m putting your ass in charge of him. It’s your job to make sure he doesn’t fuck off and try to sneak out on us,” Geoff explains, and Gavin nods his head in understanding. But then, “I’m giving you both one shot to show me what kind of stuff the kid’s got, and then I’m making a decision.”

Gavin’s brows furrow in confusion. “You kind of lost me there, Geoff. What kind of decision are you talking about?”

“Whether or not I’ll let the kid be a part of my crew,” Geoff says casually, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Gavin’s mouth drops open. “Geoff―”

A hand immediately comes up, stopping Gavin in his tracks. “I’ve seen what he can do, and it’s impressive as fuck. And he seems loyal. To you, at least. So I’m giving you and him a chance, Gav. One chance. I’m warning you not to fuck this up, because if you do, I’ll make sure this get gets nowhere near FAHC territory while I’m alive.”

Gavin nods his head mutely.

“Good. Let’s get him the fuck out of there then,” Geoff says, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “Remember though: if he pulls any shit, it’ll be on you.”

“Of course,” Gavin says, nodding frantically again.

He’s about to push himself off the wall and start to make his way over to the spare bedrooms when Ray comes walking down the hallway, pushing a collapsible wheelchair and wearing a shit-eating grin on his face. “Yo, I got your carriage, Cinderella. Get in loser.”

“I will absolutely not be getting in that,” Gavin says, pointing at the wheelchair and looking at is with disdain. “I can walk myself.”

“Like hell you are,” Geoff says putting his hand on Gavin’s shoulder. “As it is, we shouldn’t have even let you walk around the base in your current conditions. If Aaron gave a shit, he would be scolding us for doing that. You can thank him for the wheelchair, by the way. It’s nice and new, fresh from the hospital.”

Jack comes out of the neighboring room at that moment, her face very knowing when she looks at Gavin. Gavin just blushes and stares down at the floor.

She doesn’t seem to mind the sudden bashful act, and her eyes flicker to the wheelchair. She smiles brightly and says, “Oh, good! The wheelchair is here,” before manhandling Gavin into the chair.

“Get the kid out of there,” Geoff orders, jutting his thumb in the direction of the room. “Take him to a spare. Gav and I will meet you there, and for God’s sake, do not hurt him any more than he already is. Ryan, that means you!”

“I resent that,” comes Ryan’s response from inside the neighboring room. “Lindsay’s the one who hit him in the face!”

“Ryan, you fucking snitch!”

Geoff follows the pair as Ray pushes Gavin away from the interrogation room. “It’s good to have you back, dude. After that stunt you pulled, I was sure that Geoff would castrate you.”

“You and me both,” Gavin admits at the exact same time Geoff says, “I was going to.”

Gavin spares his boss a glare before turning to Ray and saying, ““I missed you, Ray.”

“I missed you too, dipshit,” Ray responds. “How was your little adventure, by the way?”

Gavin blinks, and thinks about a dimpled smile and amber eyes. “It was something.”

“Yeah, I fucking bet.”

* * *

 **23**.

Gavin is forced to sit and watch while Aaron patches Michael up and gives him pain medication from his spot in the  wheelchair. What with Geoff and Ray keeping him at a distance and Aaron working with Trevor to clean Michael’s wounds, Gavin hasn’t had the time to tell him about Geoff’s offer. He just sits and watches everything play out in front of him. Afterward though, when everyone clears the room and Geoff fixes Gavin with a look before leaving, he’s finally alone with Michael.

Michael is laying on the bed, comforter pulled up to his neck, and is burrowed underneath it. His bloody clothes lay in a crumpled mess in the corner of the room. Geoff had given him some spare clothes to wear in the meanwhile, so that he’s not running around the base buck naked.

Gavin is sitting at the edge of the bed, having been pulled from his wheelchair with Ray’s help as everyone was exiting the room. The irony of their switch does not escape Gavin as he stares at Michael in silence. Michael had spent the last two weeks perched on the edge of his bed like a hawk, and now it was Gavin who watched on like some sort of protector while the man lay in bed.

He’s explained the situation to Michael already, and neither of them have said a word since Gavin told him about Geoff’s offer. It was obvious that, at first, Michael had been completely shocked that this was even an option for him. But Gavin had been explicitly clear and concise in just what it was that Geoff had been offering: a way into the crew.

Michael had listened to the entire thing, eyes trained on the ceiling. After a minute of brutal silence, Michael breaks it by asking, “So… say I agree to this offer, or whatever. What happens then?”

“Geoff would take your expertise into consideration and then see what the crew is lacking in and where he could fit you,” Gavin explains, only to be interrupted when he goes to continue on how getting into the crew would work.

“No―No, not that,” Michael cuts him off quickly. “I mean, let’s say I get in. How would my life change?”

Gavin thinks about that for a moment. “You have to get a tattoo to prove your loyalty. You’ll report here whenever Geoff calls you, or if he puts you on a job. You’ll have an entire army to have your back if shit gets rough.

“It's not only that. Jack bakes sometimes, if she’s up for it. Impromptu Mario Kart battles in the main room are pretty common. We’ll pile into the van and go get something to eat, sometimes. It’s like a family. We’ll be like brothers, or something. If you want,” Gavin’s explanation is languid, slow like syrup. It hits him just how much he’s missed his crew, despite everything that’s happened in these past few months. It hits him just how much he does want Michael here.

Michael’s smile is rueful. “Don’t know if brothers is the appropriate term.”

Gavin blinks at that, trying to ignore the flush of emotion that suddenly engulfs him. Confusion, a little bit of hurt, and an even smaller amount of hope that Gavin knows he shouldn’t be having. He shoves the thoughts down as quickly as they rise in his chest. “Michael, what are you―”

“I don’t want to get our wires crossed here, Gavin,” Michael cuts him off. “But, look, when it comes down to it… I want in.”

Something settles into Gavin’s chest when he hears those words. It's light and heavy at the same time and it feels strangely like a wistful hope.

“Are you sure?” Gavin asks hesitantly, but his head is hammering in his chest. “You told me, the first time I had asked, that you worked completely alone.”

Michael frowns. “What? I've agreed and now you're trying to get rid of me or something?”

“No, it's not that at all,” Gavin says quickly, reaching out and touching Michael's leg. “I just want you to be completely sure about this. I've never known anyone to leave the crew in something other than a body bag, is all. This is for life, Michael, and I want you here. I've known for some time that I wanted you here. But I want _you_ to know it, to want it for yourself.”

Michael seems pensive for a moment, lips pursing despite the split in it. “You'll still be here, right? Even if I wind up being a low-level crew member or something, you'll still be here,” Michael asks, still not looking at Gavin. “I just need to know.”

Gavin nods, unsure if Michael can see him from the corner of his eye. “Geoff didn't kick me to the curb, if that's what you mean. He's far too nice to me, I think, but I'll be working for months to regain his trust again. But I'll still be here. There's nowhere else I even can go.”

Michael seems to come to a decision after that.”Then I want in.”

And Gavin lets out a breath he hadn't known he was holding in. His grip on Michael's leg tightens. “I'll let Geoff know what you've decided, then.”

Michael nods his head mutely, and Gavin is content to sit in the silence. Well, mostly. He would be content to just sit without a word, but something that Michael had said sticks in his head and refuses to budge.

“What did you mean when you said that brothers wasn't a term you thought could be applied to us?” Gavin blurts out, and then he immediately wants to bite his tongue off. He's such an idiot for even asking. He should have just kept his big mouth shut, he should have let the comment fade into the background, never to be brought up again, he should have just―

“I know you're not an idiot, Gavin,” is what Michael chooses to say, rolling his eyes. Then, they finally fall on Gavin, staring at him with an intensity Gavin can't describe. “I'm not an idiot either, you know. You're into me, it's fucking obvious.” A blush immediately blooms on Gavin's face, but Michael isn't done it seems. Oh no, he's just getting started. “Look, don't freak the fuck out, it's fine. I'm into you too. That's why I think it would be creepy to call you my brother. You don't call someone you want to bang your brother unless you're a sicko.”

Gavin blinks.

Michael stares through puffy eyes.

“I'd kiss you, but I think it might be a better idea to wait until I don't look like someone took a machete to my face.” Michael continues, seemingly almost nonchalant about the way he's putting his feelings out there like that. He stops when he sees the dazed look on Gavin's face. “Gavin? You're freaking out, aren’t you? I told you not to freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out,” Gavin says, voice scratchy and extremely high. He coughs, trying to get his emotions under control. “I’m not.”

“You look like you’re kind of freaking out there,” Michael says, voice sounding far too amused.

“I’m not,” Gavin repeats firmly, wanting to wipe that amused look off Michael’s face. “Kissing. There will be kissing, after we both get better then.”

“Yeah, I just suggested that, idiot,” Michael teases.

Gavin’s heart pounds against his chest, and he feels like it’s about to burst. Michael actually just agreed to kiss him. He’s going to kiss Michael.

Gavin swallows.

“What exactly am I supposed to be showing Geoff anyway?” Michael asks bluntly, apparently over their moment. But Gavin is okay with it, because there’s going to be kissing later.

Gavin smiles. “Put on a show for him.”

Michael seems to get it, because he grins back wildly.

* * *

Michel agrees to Geoff’s terms about living in the base for the duration of what’s being called his “grace period.” He willingly tells Geoff where he lives, hands off the keys to his apartment to the man, and Geoff has some men go to collect Michael some clothes to wear while he’s bunking in the base.

In the meantime, Michael’s face starts to lose its swelling, and his cuts and bruises slowly start to heal. Gavin’s own injuries are doing much better now that he has constant check-ins with Aaron to make sure everything is going fine. Michael lets him in on his plans for what he’ll be showing Geoff, and Gavin heartily agrees that it’s a brilliant idea, and then laces their fingers together.

For the most part, in the days that follow, Gavin and Michael still stay to themselves, once again trapped in a single room that becomes their little bubble. Michael is of course allowed outside of the room, to a few other locations that Geoff and Jack have said he is allowed to be in, but Gavin finds that the man is a little apprehensive about it. By now word has spread about him and Gavin, and Michael does not want to be dealing with that shit.

It doesn’t stop Ray from showing up whenever he damn well pleases though.

When Gavin asks why the hell Ray shows up to try and pry a conversation out of Michael, the sniper shrugs his shoulders and says, “If he’s joining the crew, thought I might as well get to know the guy. Also, I want to know who the hell finally tied you down.”

“He hasn’t officially joined the crew yet,” Gavin says, face bright red. “And, we’re not dating, by the way. He hasn’t tied me down, as you say. We’re just… I’m just trying to get him acclimated to possibly being here a lot.”

“Bullshit,” Ray snorts. “You sir, are fucking dating the guy.”

“We haven’t even kissed yet,” Gavin argues hotly.

“Schematics,” Ray says with a shrug. “I wouldn't want to kiss a guy when my face is fucked up either. One time my rifle recoiled on my face because I was holding it wrong and I would let Ryan nowhere near me until I looked like a normal human being again. So, you know, I’m just saying.”

Gavin makes a point to ignore him, but he can’t ignore the fact that Michael admitted to wanting to kiss him. They haven’t talked about it since, but it’s been a constant in the back of Gavin’s mind anyway.

“I hate you.”

Ray grins. “And all's right with the world. Hey, I’m gonna go get laid, keep me updated on if you ever get dick. See you later.”

Gavin really hates Ray sometimes.

* * *

 A few days after Michael is released to the base as a guest, Gavin manages to convince him to venture out into the main room. Michael eventually complies, and wheels (Geoff has been making Gavin use the wheelchair as a part of their deal regarding Michael) Gavin outside, following his direction through the base’s hallways.

“This place is fucking fucking huge, holy shit,” Michael whistles, head constantly swiveling to look at everything he can manage. “How do you not get lost in here?”

Gavin shrugs. “You just learn your way around eventually. When I first got here, I followed Jack everywhere because I used to get lost all the faffing time. Eventually she made me learn because she was tired of me always following her. You’ll learn your way around in no time.”

“Yeah, I doubt that,” Michael mumbles.

“Turn here,” Gavin instructs, and Michael silently follows the instructions. They turn the corner and the narrow hallway opens into the large room. Ryan is sitting at the counter, nursing a can of diet coke and reading from some book. Lindsay and Ray are sitting on the largest sofa, playing some kind of slap game with their hands.

Gavin can see Michael slightly tense at being in the presence of the three crew members, but he continues to venture deeper into the room, and Gavin feels a burst of pride for him because of it. At their entrance, Ray glances up to look at them, and Lindsay takes the opportunity to slap his hands while he isn’t looking. His gaze immediately snaps over to his hands.  
“What the fuck, Tuggey! You’re such a cheater,” Ray yells and rips his hands away, sounding completely scandalized. He holds his hands up to his chest, cradling them as if Lindsay had broken them.

“Nope, you didn’t say that was against the rules,” Lindsay defends herself. “Referee, can we get a call over here?”

“It passes,” Ryan says, and flips a page from his book.

“Fuck you, Ry,” Ray snaps, lips curling into a scowl. “See if I bang you anytime soon. You’re supposed to be on _my_ side.”

“I’m supposed to be impartial,” Ryan supplies, not even glancing up from the book. “That’s what I’m doing. You can’t expect me to take your side over every little thing just because we sleep together.”

“Yes, you are. That’s the point of sleeping together!” Ray yells out, and then turns his gaze over to Gavin and Michael. “One of you assholes tell him!”

Gavin is about to open his mouth and respond, but Michael beats him to it.

“Wasn’t explicitly stated before you started the game, I say it counts,” Michael cuts in and Gavin blinks.

“Fuck you, Michael, that wasn’t what you were supposed to say,” Ray says at the same time Lindsay lets out a whoop.

“You asked, I answered honestly.” Gavin’s eyes snap over to look at Michael with surprise, but the guy is just leaning against the wheelchair, casually watching everything play out. In that instant he seems to have been able to relax, even while in the presence of Ryan. (And Lindsay, who Gavin is pretty sure Michael is a little scared of, but he doesn’t say anything for Michael’s sake.)

“Fuck you.”

Michael flips Ray off, and Gavin thinks that Michael will adjust to the crew just fine.

* * *

 **24**.

As Gavin starts to get better, and Michael’s face starts to resemble what it used to look like, nights are spent slowly adjusting to each other. Michael’s hand will graze over Gavin’s skin, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

Gavin is sure that everyone in the base probably knows what is happening between him and Michael, but at the same time, no one is stopping them. So Gavin starts to waltz right into Michael’s temporary room like he owns the place and crawls into bed with him.

They don’t have sex―Gavin doubts either of them are physically up for the task in their current state―but Michael does start to kiss him when his lip mostly heals over and he can clearly see from both eyes. Gavin accepts the kisses with pleasure, pressing against Michael tightly. Their bodies align in the bed, and Michael’s hands slide up to rest at the base of Gavin’s neck.

While things haven’t been moving particularly fast, Gavin likes these moments where things are even slower, moving like thick honey, and the only thing he has to think about is the feeling of Michael’s lips pressing against his.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Michael says, pulling his lips away. His breath fans out across Gavin’s face. “Don’t think about it too much.”

“Believe me when I say I’ve never had an issue with overthinking something. Geoff says I’m too impulsive,” Gavin admits, but his pink lips are curling into a grin anyway. “But I’ll admit I was thinking about how nice this was.”

“The general consensus of most people is that kissing is nice,” Michael agrees with a shrug. “Can we get back to it now?”

Gavin grins. “We can.”

His head tilts up to meet Michael’s as he dips down, their lips meeting in an explosion of familiar warmth and wet. Michael captures Gavin’s lower lip in between his own, sucking gently. Gavin lets out a breathy sigh, pressing a little harder, trying to test his luck.

“Quick question,” Michael says in between kisses. When Gavin pulls away and starts trailing kisses against his neck, mindful of the bruised flesh, he asks, “Are inter-crew relationships okay? We haven’t really asked anyway, and even though there’s no way in hell they’re going to stop me from fucking you, but I want to know.”

Gavin ignores the way that goes straight to his dick, how it almost perks up at the mere thought of Michael fucking him, and separates his lips from Michael’s neck. “Geoff doesn’t care as long as it doesn’t interfere with crew work in a big way. A ton of us do a little fraternizing. Jack blames it on the adrenaline.”

“Makes sense,” Michael says, and then Gavin nips at the juncture between his neck and shoulder. His breath hitches. “Do that again.”

Gavin complies.

* * *

 

There’s something strangely domestic about waking up wrapped in the arms of another sleeping person, being engulfed in them completely. There’s something far less domestic about your back aching from being pressed against the chest of said person for the night. Gavin slowly does his best to untangle himself from Michael’s grasp and twist his body around to face Michael rather than being turned away from him.

“Morning,” Michael mumbles, eyes blinking open. His under eyes are still purple, but the swelling has gone down to reveal the face Gavin has become accustomed to.

“You’re hurting my back,” Gavin complains.

“Yeah, well I told your ass to stop trying to sleep here,” Michael says plainly.

“You nervous about today?” Gavin asks, ignoring Michael’s previous statement.

“No,” Michael says, reaching out with and rubbing small circles Gavin’s waist with his thumb. Gavin can’t help but think he probably is nervous. For the past few days, he’s been slowly finding his own little groove within the crew, and the idea of having to give that up must be a scary one. “Why would I be?”

Gavin purses his lips. “You’re right. We should go find Geoff, tell him you’re ready.”

“Yeah,” Michael says absent-mindedly. Gavin goes to sit up, only to be stopped by Michael clutching onto his shirt. Slowly, Gavin lets himself be pulled back down, and he rests his hand on top of Michael’s. “Just… in case I don’t get in―”

Gavin stops him with a kiss. When he pulls away, Michael’s eyes have fluttered shut. “You’re going to get in,” Gavin assures him, pressing a soft kiss to each eyelid. “Don’t worry about it. Now come on, I’m pretty sure we overslept.”

They roll out of the bed and Michael helps Gavin into the chair (which is more of a formality than a necessity at that point, but Geoff still insists), and they make their way into the main room. Geoff, Jack, and Ryan are sitting at the counter, talking amongst themselves when Gavin and Michael enter the room. The conversation quickly halts, and there are three pairs of eyes on them an instant later.

“You ready?” Geoff asks, and Michael nods his head. “Let’s go then.”

Ray joins them as they go to leave, and they’re all piling into one of Jack’s vans. Michael and Gavin sit next to each other, and Gavin reaches out to hold Michael’s hand. Michael smiles softly, and squeezes Gavin’s hand lightly.

* * *

Michael’s definition of a show is blowing up a building with a few well placed home-made explosives. From a safe distance, Geoff, Jack, Ryan, Gavin, and Ray are watching Michael set the thing up as quickly as he can manage. In under five minutes, Michael is in and out of the building, barrelling towards the crew with a lightning fast speed. The building explodes and collapses in on itself just as soon as Michael skitters to a stop in front of them.

Immediately, Michael is turning on his heel to watch the fire burn. His eyes seem to glow, never straying from the bright flames, and it reminds Gavin of what drew him to Michael in the first place.

Geoff seems pensive, staring at the place where the building once stood. Then he straightens his back and walks towards Michael. Michael turns to him, and watches silently as Geoff holds out a hand. Gavin watches him take the hand and give it a firm shake.

“Welcome to the Fake AH Crew,” Geoff says, and the fire next to them crackles.

* * *

 **25**.

If anyone had asked Michael a few years ago where he thought his life would take him, being in the most dangerous city in the United States and getting a tattoo from the most dangerous man in said city was not the answer he would have gone with.

And yet.

“Stop fucking squirming, dickhead,” Geoff chides, gripping Michael’s forearm tightly. “You have a few tattoos already, I don’t know why you’re being such a pussy about this. Hold still or I’ll make Ryan knock your ass out.”

From the counter in the kitchenette, Gavin lets out a giggle.

“You think this is funny, Gav?” Geoff snaps, and Gavin’s eyes immediately go wide. “If I remember correctly, when you were in this chair you were on the verge of tears because you’d never gotten a tattoo in your life, and you wanted me to go straight for one of the most painful places on the body to get a tattoo.”

Michael watches as Gavin touches the tattoo behind his ear and pouts. “Well, it’ll be there forever. Just thought I’d pick a spot where it would look cool.”

Michael snorts, but then the tattoo gun is at his flesh once more. “Look,” he explains with an uneven tone, “I’m not gonna lie, most of the time if I got a tattoo, I was drunk off my ass. Me and pain aren’t exactly best friends, if you catch my drift.”

“Should've asked for a glass of whiskey, then,” Ray says, draped on the couch. DS resting on his chest. “I’m sure someone wouldn’t mind getting it for you.”

“Not a fan,” Michael admits, and then let’s out a hiss in pain. “Ow, fuck, Geoff that _hurts_.”

“You’re being repeatedly stabbed in the arm with tiny needles, of course it’s going to fucking hurt,” Geoff deadpans. “Now shut up. Think of it as penance for not liking whiskey. I don’t even know why I’m letting you in the goddamn crew.”

“Because I keep Gavin in check?” Michael asks, grinning wildly.

“You and Gavin spray painted a bunch dicks on a cop car the other day,” Ryan replies, not even glancing up from the book he’s reading. “Don’t know if you’re keeping him in check. You’re both bad influences on each other, if anything.”

“I resent that, Ryan,” Gavin yells in their defense. “You’ve spray painted dicks with me before.”

“And he broke a cop’s face when you got caught, and then Joel wouldn’t talk to us for almost a month,” Jack says from where she’s leaning against the counter. “You know he’s flighty, even with Adam balancing him out.”

“How was I supposed to know he was a new hire at Joel’s precinct?” Gavin scowls. “I feel like you’re all ganging up on me here. Michael, help me.”

“Getting stabbed, hold up,” Michael says, trying his best to sit still.

It’s kind of funny, how only a few months of working with the Fakes have changed his perspective on things. Gavin―Gavin will always be a constant for Michael. He’s what drew him in, what kept him grounded while he was still becoming accustomed to suddenly being thrust into a crew. Michael wasn’t surprised at all to find his regard for the Brit to expand as time went on. So, no, Gavin’s steady presence wasn’t surprising in the slightest.

What was surprising is how much Michael grew to enjoy the company of others. Geoff was Geoff, and Michael had an immense respect for him. Jack immediately wormed her way into his heart with her humor and warmth and ability to take charge. Ray was just a godsend, really. The two clashed together so well, it was a little unbelievable. Ryan, after they got over their bumpy first meeting, showed an array of interesting traits Michael hadn’t expected. He was pretty funny, and both terrible and wonderful with words at the same time. He was also definitely boning Ray, which was weird, but Michael never bothered to say anything about it. Michael never asked either, but at that point he didn’t really need to. Just like no one bothered to ask what kind of relationship he and Gavin had, Michael found asking to be unnecessary.

Lindsay apologized for breaking his face with a smile that said the opposite, and their friendship was solidified right then and there. Trevor eventually officially introduced himself with a shy smile and sweaty palms, and Michael had a hard time believing the kid was a monster behind the wheel of a car. Eventually he also met Meg, who was a monsoon in her own right, and it ended up with the most surprising outcome that no one would have expected.

They adored each other.

By the time Meg had to be off, they’d dubbed themselves “Team Winners” and were happily talking as if they’ve known each other for years, rather than a few hours. Gavin didn’t seem particularly surprised by it either. “She’s a firecracker,” was all Gavin said, shrugging. “Happens to the best of us, don’t worry about it.”

When Michael had agreed to join the crew, he admits that he was worried about where he would fit in their little niche. It seems they were all a family, endlessly loyal and supportive, and Michael hadn’t wanted to disrupt their peace like a bowling ball to pins. But… it wasn’t like that. Not at all.

Geoff included him in low-risk jobs at first, and Michael understood. Jack occasionally showed him a blueprint or two and asked about what the best course of action in causing structural damage was, or how to rig a building to blow up when they need to. Ray just threw a controller at him and kicked his ass at Mario Kart, and then called it a day. And Gavin, of course, was always in Michael’s space, all smiles and bright blue-green eyes.

As the weeks trickled by and turn into months, Geoff started to put more trust in Michael as he proved himself more and more worthy of the trust. He also became more lenient with Gavin as time passed, but Michael was pretty sure that’s because Geoff just loved the guy too much to be pissed at him forever.

And now Michael was finally being brandished as an official Fake. He chose his upper arm as the place to put the tattoo, and Geoff had manhandled him into a foldable chair in the middle of the main room and whipped out a tray full of tattooing equipment that Michael didn’t even know he’d owned.

Geoff had squinted at him and asked, “How old are you?”

“Twenty―” Michael started, but Geoff cut him off before he was able to get anything else out.

“Lad. Got it,” Geoff says, and doesn’t bother to explain what the hell he means before he’s adding something to the stencil that Michael can’t see. Michael tries to peak at the paper while Geoff is busy at work writing letters with precision.

Gavin seems to get it though. “Ray! Our numbers are growing, Lad.”

Ray, who also seems privy to a secret Michael doesn’t get to know, just grins and yells. “Hell yeah they are! Even number now, bitches!”

Geoff eventually seems content, places the stencil against Michael’s arm, and peels it off. Gloves are pulled over his hand, and Geoff picks up the tattoo gun off the tray. It buzzes to life, and a moment later needles start to cut through skin, and Michael has to deal with both the pain and five idiots having a conversation around him for over an hour.

After Geoff finishes the tattoo, he wipes the blood off and rubs a salve on it. Michael twists his arm to get a look at it while Geoff is leaning back in his seat, tugging off his latex gloves. “You should already know, but it’ll take a while to heal. Keep it moisturized and clean, use only mild soaps on it, don’t be poking at it. Just avoid doing stupid shit and it should heal nicely.”

Michael nods mutely, and stares at the inflamed tattoo. The black ink stands out starkly against his pale skin. In beautiful thick calligraphy, the letters FAHC are written out, curling around his bicep. Underneath it, in smaller, but just as beautifully intricate letters, LAD is written out. Michael blinks at the tattoo, and his chest feels light.

This is real.

“I love it,” Michael says.

“Of course you do, I did it,” Geoff says, slapping Michael’s shoulder lightly. “Now let’s get that fucker wrapped up and then we’re all going out to celebrate.”

“Where to?” Jack asks curiously.

Geoff shrugs. “We’ll figure it out.”

“That never ends well,” Ryan points out. “And now we have three children who will continuously argue against our choices.”

“Jokes on you, you’re fucking one of the children,” Ray says, and everyone in the room groans.

Gavin gags. “That sound so many levels of wrong, Ray.”

“Yeah, I only figured that out after the words were already out of my mouth,” Ray says, but he doesn’t seem to look all too guilty at his word choice.

“You all suck,” Geoff grumbles.

Michael tosses his head back and laughs.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention this epilogue doubles as a prologue to the Jeremy-centric sequel I'm working on? No? Well, now you know!

**Epilogue**.

“So,” Michael starts casually after killing the engine, leaning back in his seat and kicking his feet onto the dashboard of the van that Jack had let them borrow for this mission. “Is there any reason that I, in particular, have to be out here with you on this job? Actually, is there any reason we _have_ to be out on this job at all? We already have a sniper, if you don’t remember. He kicked your ass at Worms the other night.”

Gavin, from his own spot in the passenger's seat, only manages to scowl and cross his arms, turning away towards the window. “Don’t go blaming me. Geoff is the one who said he wanted the kid. I’m just trying to follow orders here, and rules state that I need someone to back me up in case things go sour.”

Michael raises a brow at him, and hum noncommittally. “Alright, so in that case, why didn’t you just bring Ryan with you. He makes fantastic backup! And he can glare anyone into submission. Or you could have just brought Ray with you. He and this guy could have geeked out over sniper rifles or something, make this whole process go by a lot faster.”

“Ryan is a terrifying monster who sends potential recruits running with piss in their pants. Which is why we don’t include him in these kind of missions. No one wants to have a casual conversation with the Vagabond breathing over their shoulder the entire time,” Gavin deadpans. “And Ray unfortunately lacks the capacity to be a normal human being in any social situation. Plus, who better to protect me than my own boyfriend?”

“A professional sniper or The Vagabond,” Michael replies tersely. “Take your pick.”

Gavin’s lower lip juts out in a pout. “You’re so mean to me, Michael.”

“Shut up and keep your eyes peeled.” Gavin’s pout transforms into a scowl and he leans forward, elbows resting against the dashboard and eyes falling onto the building they’re meant to be surveying. It’s the entire reason they’re even in Jack’s van in the first place. The building that they’re watching is an apartment complex, and, according to the information Gavin had dug up, was also home to one Jeremy Nicholas Dooley. Jeremy is a twenty-four year old from Boston who’d recently rolled into town. He was also a sniper-for-hire who Geoff definitely he wanted to hire on what might be a very permanent level. Now Gavin is off to reprise his role as charming recruiter, and Michael is accompanying him for back up.

Which is evidently not the best of ideas.

Despite the fact that it’s been well over a year since the whole “I almost blew myself up and fell half in love with the dude who rigged the explosions that almost blew me up in the first place” fiasco that Gavin had gone through, Geoff was still a little on the fence about putting them out on jobs together.

It had taken a lot of coaxing from Gavin before Geoff had finally relented and started giving them low-risk missions to go on. Michael consistently expressed his dissatisfaction for these type of missions, because usually if he was working separate from Gavin, or if the mission included a lot more people, he would be working on demolition duty. And there’s nothing Michael loves more than blowing shit up. Still, he always goes with Gavin if the Brit asks, which Gavin is thankful for.

(He’s convinced that Michael likes spending time with him on jobs too, even if he doesn’t ever vocalize it.)

This current mission could prove to be a bit tricky because according to what Gavin has been able to dig up on the kid, Jeremy was a bit of a flight risk. If things didn’t go exactly according to plan, he booked it immediately. So Geoff told him to be extremely careful and cautious about how he approached the guy.

“You fuck this up, and I am literally ending your life,” Geoff had warned him all while wearing a smile on his face, and sent him off with a slap to the back.

That’s what leads Gavin to a two hour stake out in front of Jeremy’s apartment complex, realizing just why Michael wasn’t a fan of these type of jobs: they were boring as hell. Without much to do, Gavin finds his mind wandering a little, eyes tracing the now familiar lines of the building. Jeremy was actually far easier to find than Michael had been, he realizes. Which probably explains why he’s so quick to run. He doesn’t cover his tracks that well, and in order for his past not to catch up with him, he’s got to jump from place to place pretty often. Gavin is sure that he can get Jeremy to listen to his offer, the man would take it in a heartbeat if it meant no longer having to run every few months. He just has to get the guy to listen.

As time trickles by, Gavin finds himself fighting against the heaviness of his eyelids, and how his head suddenly dips forward every few minutes because of how sleepy he is. Michael seems to have occupied his time fiddling with his phone, glancing up every minute or two to see if anything has changed.

Gavin’s head lolls forward, and he finds himself thinking what would be the problem is he just rested his eyes for a bit. It’s not like the building it going to magically change in the few minutes he isn’t watching it. In any case, Michael is there too, and Gavin is so, so sleepy.

His eyes flutter shut.

A second later Michael is flailing in his seat, almost kicking Gavin in his panic. He’s violently tugging on Gavin’s sleeve with one hand and pointing wildly at someone across the street with the other. “Gavin. Gav, is that him over there? Looks a lot like the pictures that you were showing me the other day. Mostly.”

Any sleepiness Gavin might have had escapes him in that instant, and he’s flailing wildly, head snapping over to where Michael was pointing, eyes immediately drawn to a shock of blue hair. It’s undoubtedly Jeremy, who is exiting the apartment complex with a black backpack slung over his shoulder. He’s making his way out into the street, joining the throng of people who also have places to go.

“That’s him,” Gavin says, fumbling to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“What should we do?” Michael asks, watching the man walk further down the street.

With pursed lips, Gavin responds, “We go after him. Come on, let’s do this.”

Michael nods and quickly pulls the keys out of the ignition before climbing out of the car. Gavin follows suit, and then they nonchalantly walk across the street and start to tail Jeremy through the street. Slipping on his shades over his eyes, Gavin treads lightly, trying to seem as casual as possible.

“How do you want to do this?” Michael murmurs, trailing behind Gavin just slightly.

“I want to get him alone, if that’s possible,” Gavin responds. “Being in a crowded street isn’t the best place to be having this talk. Oh shit, he’s turning the corner. Come on.”

Gavin quickens his step, following Jeremy around the corner of the street. They follow Jeremy for almost five blocks, until finally, in a stroke of luck, he turns into a street that splits into a huge alleyway. Except that when Jeremy turns to walk into the alleyway, Gavin figures the guy knows he’s being tailed and is definitely going to confront them. Michael also seems to realize what’s happening, because he suddenly quickens his step and stands in front of Gavin, effectively covering him with his body.

As he reaches the middle of the alleyway, Jeremy seems content in the distance he’s put between them and suddenly swivels on his feet, fingers curling into tight fists to show he’s ready to fight if need be. “What the fuck do you want with me?”

Michael already looks like he’s winding himself up to throw a punch, so Gavin finds himself quickly intervening before things get violent. Before Michael is forced to fight what will hopefully be a new member, Gavin steps in between them and plasters a dazzling smile on his face.

“We just want to have a chat,” Gavin says lightly. “Jeremy Dooley, right? That’s your name, isn’t it? My name is Gavin Free, and my boss has expressed some interest in your particular talents, if you get what I mean.”

Jeremy blinks at that, the fire in his eyes losing a bit of its heat. He seems confused for the most part, but Gavin picks up on the slight indication that Gavin somewhat knows what he’s talking about. “This isn’t usually how people come to me with a job offer, you know. It’s a little unorthodox.”

“So is what you do for a living,” Gavin quips, smile transforming into a smirk. “I would like to apologize for following you like that. It must have felt unnerving for two strangers to be tailing you. We just wanted to get you away from prying ears. You’re not currently in Fake territory, you see, and there’s quite a few people who’d like to scoop you up from right under the Kingpin’s nose.”

Jeremy lets out a noise of surprise at Geoff’s moniker, and Gavin knows immediately that he recognizes the name and is aware of just how much power Geoff holds in the city. Jeremy blinks rapidly, eyes moving around the empty alleyway as if he’s looking for Geoff. “The Kingpin? You don’t mean Geoff Ramsey, do you?”

“That’s exactly who I’m talking about,” Gavin responds with a nod of his head. “You see, Geoff has had his eye on you ever since you came rolling into the city. I am simply here to deliver his message to you, and to officially extend to you his offer to you.”

“What kind of offer?” Jeremy asks, fists unfurling. His hands don’t completely lower to his side, which means he’s still somewhat on edge, but Gavin thinks it’s something at least. He also can’t help but think that despite the fact that Jeremy is a known flight risk, he also seems ready to fight his way out of any situation he might get himself into.

Right now though, he’s a strange blend of both, but he also seems willing to listen to what it is that Gavin has to say. Which bodes well for everyone involved.

“He wants you to join the Fake AH Crew,” Gavin answers. “He’s seen what you can do with a sniper rifle, and he wants you in his ranks.”

Jeremy’s mouth falls open in surprise, but he quickly manages to get ahold of himself, mouth shutting with a loud clack. “Don’t you already have a sniper, though?” Jeremy asks hesitantly. “I’ve worked a few jobs in the city already, and I’ve heard things about the Fake AH Crew’s sniper, Brownman. Why would you have a need for me if you’ve got him?”

“The more the merrier, isn’t that the way that saying goes?” Gavin asks, pulling the shades off his face and slipping them into his pocket. He smiles, eyes crinkling just at the corners. “Geoff likes what he’s seen, that’s what really matters. If you’re open to the idea, Geoff wants you to meet with him and talk for a bit about what you might expect out of us. You’ll meet Brownman as well, and show him your stuff.”

Jeremy looks physically surprised at the words that have just come out of Gavin’s mouth.

“Meet Brownman?” Jeremy asks, voice a little breathy, and Gavin has a moment to think, _oh boy._ That is the look of someone who has a celebrity crush if Gavin has ever seen it. He wisely chooses not to say anything because he doubts it’ll end well for anyone if he does (he knows from experience, but hey, at least Michael had been single), and instead nods his head.

“Yes, meet Brownman,” Gavin confirms, lips pursing. “So, are you in? It’s just a meeting―almost like an interview, if you want to think about it that way. If Geoff decides you aren’t suited for the crew, or you decide you don’t want to join, then we’ll all go our separate ways, no problem.”

Jeremy, despite the unabashed curiosity of a moment ago, seems apprehensive about accepting the offer on the spot. It’s like a part of him wants to take the deal, but a slightly larger part of him is preventing him from doing it right then and there. So Gavin decides to give him that extra push. “I’m just going to tell you that from personal experience, being with this crew has done me a world of good. I don’t have to run every few months like I used to do. I have people to back me up now.”

Michael seems to piggyback off of Gavin’s words and tersely adds, “And I don’t have to deal with jobs by myself. Working with people I actually trust is way different from working alone. It’s actually better, despite what I used to think.”

“It’s completely different from working with complete strangers as well,” Gavin adds onto that. “I used to take freelance jobs before I joined the crew, and I always had that nagging thought in the back of my head that if I didn’t to a good enough job, the people who hired me might have seen it fit to take it out on me. It did happen a handful of times, but now I have no need to worry about that.”

Jeremy bites his lip, and Gavin can see him silently being swayed. “Let’s say,” he starts slowly, “I agree to this meeting. Where would we go from there? I mean, when will the meeting happen? _Where_ will the meeting happen? You can’t just expect me to willingly go into all of this blind.”

Gavin can appreciate Jeremy’s cautious nature. It’s probably the reason he’s still alive, despite the number of people who want to see him dead,

“Geoff doesn’t like to disclose the location of our main base with people unless he’s sure he’s going to hire them,” Gavin explains. “Just a formality, nothing to be worried about. However, this does mean that you’ll have to have the meeting in an undisclosed area. Most likely a restaurant in Fake territory, as opposed to a dark and empty alleyway. Afterward, you’ll shoot a few rounds with Brownman, and that’ll be that. If the Kingpin likes you, you’ll be contacted by myself most likely. We’ll put you on a few jobs to see how well you mesh with the crew, and then we’ll decide.”

“Do I have the ability to refuse, should I personally decide I don’t want to join? Like we can just shake hands and be done with it, no bad blood between us?” Jeremy asks, and Gavin finds himself a little impressed with the guy for having the forethought to ask Gavin instead of Geoff. Had Geoff heard this question, he would have acted like a petulant child and pouted about it for weeks (not in front of Jeremy, of course).

“You do have that option open to you, yes,” Gavin answers. “It is best to keep in mind however, that if later on you change your mind about not joining us, I doubt Geoff would extend an olive branch to you. So you may want to consider your options quite a bit before you make a decision. Actually here, take this.”

Gavin steps close and makes a grab for Jeremy's hand in a slow and non-threatening manner. Jeremy stiffens, but allows Gavin to take his hand and slip a piece of paper with his number on it into his open palm. Gavin guides Jeremy's fingers until they're curling and clutching the paper, and then tells him, “I'll give you some time to think it over, yeah? After you decide―and whatever you decide―you give me a call and we'll go from there. I have no desire to hold you up for too long, so Michael and I shall be off.”

Jeremy stares as the piece of paper in his hand and manages to nod mutely. Gavin pats his hand lightly and pulls away, putting some distance between them. “Goodbye, Jeremy. Please be in touch.”

Gavin turns on his heels and walks away after that, leaving the kid looking a little lost and dazed in that alleyway. Michael is following him a moment later as they make their way back into the street. The silent guard persona slips away from Michael in an instant, and he's quick to shoot Gavin a fierce grin.

“What?” Gavin asks slowly, his own charismatic persona leaving him just as quick. “What are you looking at?”

“That was hot,” Michael says bluntly.

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Gavin asks just as soon as he's sure that they're out of earshot from Jeremy. He doesn't want him to hear what they're really like beneath their working personalities. Not yet, anyway. Let it be known that Gavin can keep his business professional, the Michael snafu not included.

“I said that was hot,” Michael repeats. “Your little act just then. It was hot. You pulled it out in me that first night we met, but I was a little preoccupied and didn't get the chance to appreciate back then for what it was. Now I can. You almost sound like you actually know what the fuck you're doing. No wonder Geoff likes to send you out on these jobs.”

Gavin's only physical reaction to Michael's words is a roll of his eyes, but he silently preens at the compliments Michael is giving him. “Shut up, you goof. Let's get back before Geoff thinks we're just dicking around and having fun.”

“Yes sir, Mister Free. I'm not going to lie,” Michael says, voice going low. “I'm kind of into this new side of you. Can we do it when we get back?”

Gavin's only response is another roll of his eyes, and Michael just laughs in his ear, breath tickling the shell. His boyfriend is kind of an idiot, Gavin thinks when they're walking through the street towards the van.

They're definitely going to be having sex though, Gavin has already silently decided this by the time they're climbing back into the van and Michael is turning on the engine.

* * *

Jeremy has, of course, heard about the Fake AH Crew and how they basically own Los Santos in its entirety. He's also heard about their infamous sniper, Brownman. In his line of work, you tended to hear about like-minded people who chose the same abnormal profession as you, and so Brownman was a constant for him..

When Jeremy had first made his way into Los Santos and started taking jobs with crews who lacked a skilled sniper or just a sniper in general, people got to talking about Brownman and his skills. Jeremy, in all his years doing this, had never met a sniper with a better aim than him, but if all this talk about Brownman had been true, then Jeremy is going to meet his maker soon enough.

And here’s the funny thing: Jeremy isn’t jealous. Quite the opposite, in fact. He actually finds himself a little in awed at the man’s skills. Well, he finds himself feeling _really_ awed. It’s kind of weird, and Jeremy doesn’t talk about it. It’s not like he really has anyone to tell, anyway. It’s not like he’s ever going to meet the guy, anyway.

Well, to be more accurate, Jeremy had been sure he wouldn’t ever get the chance to meet Brownman up until the point he met Gavin Free. That man had taken the beliefs Jeremy had been developing for the past few months and immediately kicked them to the curb by offering him a position in the Fake AH Crew.

He was a little surprised that the Fakes actually reached out to him when he’s only been in the city for a handful of months, but Jeremy will be the first to admit that it is something he’s thought about before. The thoughts never held any actual sincerity, but it had been nice to think about not having to constantly be on the run. Because the Fakes, they’re loyal to a fault and they protect their own. And Jeremy can do with a few loyal people that have his back right now.

So, even there’s still some uneasiness in the pit of his stomach, he calls Gavin and to agree to the meeting. If all goes well, he might be officially initiated into the crew.  Which is a frightening thought in its own right, but what other options is Jeremy left with? He could join the Fake AH and stop having to run from people who want him dead every few months, or he could pack up again and ignore the only chance he’s had for years.

He supposes, when it gets down to it, the answer is an easy one.

Even so, it does take his three days to work up the courage to finally make the call. Jeremy grits his teeth and picks up his phone from the table, quickly dialing the number he’d memorized five minutes after receiving it and clicking call before he even bothers to think his way out of doing it. To give Gavin credit, he picks up after only a few rings.

“Hello?”

Jeremy bites down on his lip so hard he’s pretty sure he draws blood. “Gavin. This is Jeremy Dooley. You told me to call you if I had any interest in joining the Fakes, and well, I’m calling.”

There’s shuffling on the other end and then Gavin is saying, “Dooley,” in a surprised voice. “It’s been a few days, I wasn’t expecting you to call. I’m glad you did, though. So you’ve given Geoff’s offer some thought, I take it?”

“I have,” Jeremy confirms, and then hesitates for a moment. “I’m willing to talk, at least. When would I have to meet up with them exactly?”

“We’ll have to work something out, evidently,” Gavin tells him, and Jeremy purses his lips, fingers tapping against the countertop of his kitchen. There’s a pause on the other line, and then Gavin asks, “When are you free?”

Jeremy rattles off a handful of dates where he knows he won’t be occupied with previous engagements. That is when he realizes that perhaps it wouldn’t be the smartest idea to go out on other jobs without informing at the very least Gavin about it. He doesn’t know what might piss Geoff off. “Hey, uh, I still have a few jobs lined up for the next few weeks,” Jeremy explains. “I hope that's not going to be a problem. I still have to make a living, you know.”

Gavin lets out a soft hum, and Jeremy doesn’t really know what to make of it. At least it doesn’t sound like Gavin is getting ready to send out the cavalry because Jeremy has jobs lined up for other crews. “I suppose under these circumstances it’s completely understandable. I would suggest you line up no more jobs after the ones you already have, but I won’t force you to drop them. I shall get back to you with a date as soon as I have a little chat with Geoffrey. I thank you for your interest in the crew.”

“Um, yeah, sure of course.”

The line goes dead immediately after that, and Jeremy pulls his phone away from his face to look down at the dim screen with wide eyes. He just agreed to this. He agreed to a personal meeting with the ruler of Los Santos so that he can maybe join his crew. He swallows down the panic that starts to well in his throat, and takes a deep breath.

He can do this. Yeah, he can do this.

* * *

He can’t do this.

Geoff is sitting in front of him with his hands folded idly on the table, and Jeremy just cannot do this. He can read the tattoo on his knuckles that brand him as a Fake AH Crew member for life. Next to him, looking just as powerful and serene, is Jack Pattillo. Jeremy doesn’t know much about the woman, except that she’s been right next to Geoff the entire time, and no other Fake ever questions her position there. No one outside of the crew questions her position as second in command, either. So Jeremy doesn’t.

She smiles at him, but it’s slightly unnerving, almost as if she was assessing the quickest and most effective way to kill him. While Geoff bares the scars he’s had to endure in order to get to the top, Jack’s face is ruddy and round and her arms are completely bare. She's wearing two clips in her bright red hair, and had they not met under these circumstances, Jeremy doubts he would have realized who she was.

“There’s no need to be nervous, you know,” Jack starts, and her voice is soothing, but Jeremy still can’t help but feel on edge. “We’re not going to kill you.”

“If we wanted you dead, I would have the Vagabond sitting next to me instead of Jack,” Geoff says casually, and Jeremy’s blood runs cold.

The Vagabond is kind of a myth in Jeremy’s eyes. He still doesn’t believe that the guy can exist. From the shit Jeremy has heard about him, if he did happen to be real, Jeremy never wanted to meet him. Geoff's very casual mention of the man does nothing to make Jeremy feel any better about being here.

“I suppose we should get this started, yeah?” Geoff says, and immediately raises a hand to attract the attention of a waiter. Which proves to be extremely easy, as they're the only ones in the entire restaurant. The waiter silently brings Geoff a beer and is off towards the back a moment later. “So, how long have you been in the business?”

Jeremy chews on the inside of his cheek. “I've been shooting guns since I was young. Mostly illegally, since they don't really let kids into shooting ranges. Didn't really pick up on the fact that my parents were training me to go into the family business until they took me with them on a hit. I was fifteen at the time, so about nine years, I guess.”

“How long have you been working solo, then?” Jack prompts, looking extremely pensive.

“Since I was nineteen,” Jeremy answers, stomach twisting slightly. It's not a time in his life he likes talking about, especially with complete strangers. “There was a conflict of interest in my family, so I booked it and have been doing freelance jobs since.”

“Does that mean you have trouble working with others?” Jack asks, head tilting. She doesn't seem nosey, doesn't seem like she's trying to dig into the old wounds. She just seems like she's trying to work out how Jeremy would fit with her people.

So Jeremy answers. “I wouldn’t say so. It wasn't actually my conflict. But since it was a family affair, I was indirectly involved. I chose to leave despite the fact that my family said they'd disown me and I wouldn't be able to return.”

He's definitely sugar coating the hell out of it, but he'd rather not disclose his entire tragic background right now. Maybe if he ever gets closer to them, or maybe if he even gets hired. Jack seems to accept the mostly vague answer for what it is, and looks like she definitely knows there's more to that story in particular, so Jeremy is kind of surprised she decides not to push.

“What kind of weapons do you have experience with?” Geoff asks, taking a sip from his beer. He gets foam on his mustache, and Jeremy politely choses to ignore it. For some reason it doesn’t make him look less intimidating.

Jack doesn’t, and hands Geoff a napkin without even looking at him.

Jeremy opens his mouth to answer the question, and that’s how it goes on for a few hours. Geoff will ask a question, or Jack will ask a question, and Jeremy finds himself on the receiving end of two very carefully calculating stares as he spends a few minutes answering the questions. It’s questions about how  he thinks he might fit in the crew, what role he might have should he get accepted, how far is he willing to go for a job, for Geoff.

Jeremy answers truthfully―there’s no point in doing otherwise, really.

As time ticks by, Jack starts to relax. She orders herself a plate of fries and idly nibbles on them while she listens to Jeremy’s answers. Geoff sticks to the beer, but even as the alcohol starts to flow in his system, he never loses that carefully blank face. Jeremy thinks it might just be how his face is naturally.

By the end of the meeting, Geoff pushes himself away from the table and moves to stand. Jeremy follows him only a moment later, and then Jack also stands.

“Come on, time for the second half of this interview,” Geoff says, and immediately turns on his heel and is walking off. Jack offers a small smile and gestures for Jeremy to follow before she too turns and walks away from the table.

He’s exhausted. It’s been hours that they’ve been going at it, and Jeremy just wants to curl up and sleep forever. They’re probably trying to get a gauge on just how long Jeremy can take with constant interrogation or questioning before he gets tired and caves. So Jeremy, not wanting to be seen as a weak link, squares his shoulders and follows them.

Outside of the restaurant, Jeremy finds Jack and Geoff standing by a black van, talking to a man with blond hair and a dark leather jacket. He glances at Jeremy with deep blue eyes, and Jeremy represses the shiver that threatens to go through him because of the cold gaze. The eyes move away from him a moment later, sliding back over to Geoff, and he murmurs something Jeremy can’t hear. Jeremy blinks, and then his eyes are drawn to the other person who is standing there: a young man with messy hair and purple hoodie. That’s not the first thing that strikes Jeremy about the man, however. No, the first the thing he notices is the sniper rifle case slung over his shoulder.

Oh, shit.

“You’re Brownman,” Jeremy says plainly, blinking his eyes at the guy. “Holy shit. I guess the correct way to greet you would be to say I’m a huge fan of your work.”

His eyes cut over to Jeremy, looking from head to toe, and then the blank face disappears in order to make way for Brownman’s wild grin. “You can just call me Ray,” he says, obviously very amused at Jeremy’s reaction to meeting him.

Jeremy nods enthusiastically and reaches out with his hand. Ray takes the outstretched palm and shakes it firmly. “I’m Jeremy Dooley. I don’t actually have a cool code name like yours, I’m afraid, so you can just call me Jeremy.”

“Glad to meet you under these circumstances, Jeremy,” Ray says, his smile becoming nothing but teeth. “I would have hated to meet you from the end of my rifle.”

“Same here.”

Ray’s eyes narrow for a moment, and then, as if he’s deciding something, his eyes immediately go back to normal―no, that’s not quite right. They don’t go back to normal. They shine. Jeremy assumes he just passed some sort of weird test, and his lip twitches in a small smile.

“Nice to see you two are really shooting the shit back there,” Geoff comments casually, and Jeremy freezes a little. His eyes flicker over to where Geoff is leaning against the car, Jack’s face peering over his shoulder with a grin on it. The third guy―Jeremy had yet to catch his name―stares with a raised brow.

“Oh, sorry,” Jeremy apologizes immediately, face turning pink.

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” Geoff says flippantly. “Good to see you can at least get along with our main sniper. This will go a lot more smoothly if Ray doesn’t completely hate your guts. This’ll go even more smoothly if Ray stops fucking around and monopolizing your time.”

Ray shoots Geoff a grin.

“Right, well Jack and I are going to be leaving you in the capable hands of Ray and Ryan here,” Geoff says, and Jeremy’s eyes flicker over to the blond man standing there with them. That must be Ryan, he thinks, and tucks the little bit of information away. “They’ll drop you back off where ever you please after everything is all said and done, and Gavin will contact you within the week. Sound good?”

Jeremy nods. “Yeah.”

“Alright, then I hope we’ll meet again soon, Dooley,” Geoff says, patting Jeremy on the shoulder before walking off down the street and hopping into the passenger's seat of a car a few spaces down.

Jack shakes his hand and bids him farewell before she too is going into the car through the driver’s side and they they’re driving off to who even knows where, leaving him alone with Ray and Ryan. Ray, who is staring with a far too amused grin on his face, and Ryan, who has yet to say a word to Jeremy at all. Jeremy turns to look at them and bits his lip.

“Should we get going?” he asks, wiping his palms against his jeans.

Ryan blinks and his eyes meet Jeremy’s, and he doesn’t look away. Jeremy shivers again, but this time for a completely unrelated reason to the one from earlier ago. For some reason, Ryan’s gaze is electric, and the moment Jeremy can feel the heat start to rise to his face, he forces his eyes to fall to the ground.

“Yup,” Ray says, effectively pulling Jeremy away from his thoughts. “Let’s get this show on the road. Ryan, you drive.”

“I was going to anyway,” Ryan answers, and Jeremy thinks he’s got a nice voice. Then he immediately shoves that thought down as deep into the back of his mind as he can because it would be a bad idea to develop a crush on someone who is a part of a crew he isn’t. Not to mention he doesn’t know a damn thing about Ryan.

They pile into the car, and Ray squeezes into the seat next to Jeremy in the back, the rifle case laid out on both of their laps. Ray taps it lightly and says, “Hope you don’t mind using mine for the day. Next time you can bring yours and we can practice some long range shots.”

Jeremy nods, but his head gets a little stuck on _next_ _time_.

Now that he’s met a few members of the crew and talked with them a bit, he’s actually finding himself a little less anxious about this as he had been. Of course, the nerves are still sitting in his stomach, but now perhaps less so than before. So he stares out at the window as the city disappears and Ryan leads them out into the desert.

* * *

When they climb out of the car, Ray squints at the desert sun before he turns and gently pulls his sniper out of the car and makes his way around to the other side. Jeremy steps out of the car and stands next to Ray almost casually, and that’s when he realizes something about the guy that he hadn’t noticed before: he was really fucking short. Ray had to have a few inches on him, at least.

It was fucking adorable.

Jeremy catches his staring and tilts his head slowly. “What is it?” he asks cautiously, glancing around at the desert around them. “Is there something on my face?”

The corner of Ray’s mouth twitches into a grin and he shakes his head. “Nope. Come on, let’s go get you set up. I hope you like pink.”

“Why do you ask?” Jeremy questions, head tilting curiously. Ray grins and finds a good place to set up. He drops to his knees and opens the case with a flick of his wrist, pulling the top open and exposing his sniper rifle. “Oh, _that's_ why you asked. Wouldn’t that make you easier to spot though?”

“That’s what I’ve been telling him since the beginning,” Ryan says, coming up to stand behind them, and that’s when Ray realizes that Ryan has decided he likes Jeremy, otherwise he’d still be in stoic silent mode. “He refuses to listen.”

“Shut up, Ryan,” Ray quips, pulling the rifle out and setting it up on the sand.

Jeremy squats next to him and silently watches him set his rig up. He can tell the man is getting into the zone, with the way he’s watching Ray’s fingers work over the rifle carefully, eyes following his every movement.

After he’s done and shoots off a few practice round, he glances down to see Jeremy’s fingers twitching. “Can…” Jeremy starts, and trails off for a moment. He seems to find the resolve to finish the question because he starts over a second later. “Can I give it a go?”

“Well, that’s what we’re here to see, dude,” Ray says, and moves out of the way. “Go wild.”

He’s covered in sand, but he doesn’t pay it any mind as he watches Jeremy get in position. Ray vaguely wonders if this is what he looks like when he’s working. More often than not, he’s completely alone when he’s out on a job, on top of a building or hiding somewhere else, apart from the others. They usually don’t get to see how he looks when he’s shooting someone in the head.

But now here is is, getting the chance to see how Jeremy holds himself with a sniper in his hands. His shoulders become still, and his jaw clenches tightly, and he looks like he’s not fucking around at all. Jeremy spends a moment's lining up his shot (a thin tree a few hundred feet away), becoming comfortable with Rays weapon, and fires.

Jeremy is, predictably, an amazing shot. His technique is more put together than Ray’s, giving away the fact that he’s probably had years of practice. It’s not completely flawless, but Ray figures if he had his own rifle, he wouldn’t have a problem shooting something from a long distance.

But he’s seen enough to know one thing: Ray definitely wants to work with Jeremy on jobs.

He glances back at Ryan while Jeremy lines up a second shot, and he’s surprised to see Ryan actually looks a little impressed.

Good, that makes two of them. He turns back around just in time to see Jeremy take his next shot. It's a bullseye.

* * *

Jack is sitting across from Geoff, watching him silently. Her phone is laid out in her lap and she’s been idly fiddling with it the entire meeting. Geoff doesn’t mind―at this point he doubts he’s even allowed to say anything even resembling a command to her. Well, not, he’s definitely allowed to give her commands, but demanding she put her phone away would probably earn him another stab wound that would undoubtedly scar. So he says nothing.

“You come to a decision yet?” Jack asks, looking a little too bored. “You know my answer, as well as Ray’s. Ryan’s too, which is kind of surprising to me that he would be so willing to let the kid in. You know how he is about strangers. But even with our opinions on the matter, the call is all on you. So what’s it gonna be?”

Geoff purses his lips. “I want the kid, I know I do. He’s too talented to just pass up like that. That’s why I sent Gavin after him to begin with.”

“But?” Jack prompts.

“But,” Geoff starts, “I don’t want him to just come in here without being a hundred percent sure he won’t fuck up the flow we’ve got going on.”

“You mean like Michael?” Jack asks.

“You and I both know Michael was probably a fluke,” Geoff says. “I mean, what were the odds that Gavin picked one criminal out of the masses that fit in with us so well that he managed to become a key member of the gang in under a year? Pretty fucking slim.”

“But he did it,” Jack points out. “And like I said, we’ve all met him, and not one of us has managed to come up with anything negative about him. The only thing I can remember is Gavin saying he was too short to join the crew. That’s literally it.”

“But he’s got secrets,” Geoff says, leaning back in his seat. “You heard him that day, the way he was avoiding answering your questions.”

Jack rolls her eyes. “He has secrets. So what? We all do. I wouldn’t want to bare my soul to two random gang leaders over beers and french fries. But it doesn’t sound like whatever he’s hiding could come back to bite us in the ass in the long run. As soon as people hear he’s a Fake, they’ll go running anyway.”

Geoff lets out a groan and rubs his eyes with his hand. “Dammit. I really want that fucking kid on our team.”

“How about we give him something like we did with Michael? A grace period,” Jack offers. “Where he’ll work with the crew and be involved, but he won’t technically be in the crew. All rules apply to him while he’s working for us, but if you decide you don’t want him then we’ll let him go.”

Geoff takes a deep breath. Jack does make a compelling argument. And if this goes well, if Jeremy clashes with everyone well enough and no one comes rolling into town holding some sort of vendetta for the man, then that’ll just be the cherry on top. If he doesn’t, well they’ll have to kick him the curb and wish him the best of luck. In the meanwhile, Geoff wants the kid on his team.

“Fine. Tell Gavin to make the call. We’re getting ourselves a new sniper.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote! Hope you guys follow me on the next installment of this universe where Lil J makes a right fool of himself and falls in love. It'll be great.


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